#because to him she's the bane of his existence he's spent years tracking her down | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

motomam1 · 1 year

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MOTOMAMI | valeria's friends

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author's note: this was the bane of my existence (hence why it took so long to post). summing up is not necessarily my strength.

― THE LA FRIEND GROUP

name: benito velasquez date of birth: june 26th, 1998 place of birth: east la, california occupation: pr manager friends since: childhood

Benito didn’t know who I was for the first few years of his childhood. Granted, I didn’t know about him either. It’s funny, really, how we grew up around the same neighbourhood surrounded by the same people and yet neither of us was aware of the other despite our similar age. He’d often hang out at Tía María’s place, more so than he did at his own home, right across the street where I lived. Tía María was a widowed woman who suffered the loss of her husband just recently at that time. She was happy to spoil the children around the neighbourhood since she couldn’t get any of her own. She was everyone’s aunty, parents oftentimes sending their children over to hers whenever it suited them. That’s how I met Benny before I started karting. My dad was occupied in his mechanics shop a lot, hence why I spent most of my time after school hanging out at Tía María’s place as well.

He was a genius when it came to everything social media. I never understood why he was so obsessed with Keeping up with the Kardashians, Britney Spears’ mental breakdown in 2007 and the downfall of Lindsay Lohan. I figured it was his thing just like my thing was racing. However, it wasn’t just a phase for him like many had said. He easily saw through various PR moves and could detect what’s true and what’s fake to deceive the public eye. Sometimes he’d tell me how he’d handle the different scandals if he was their PR manager. I admired him for his vast knowledge.

When I got discovered by Toto Wolff and sent off to further prove myself on the European Circuit, Benny was right behind me to discuss my media presence. It was funny at the beginning how easy it came to him to manage my social media accounts with me together, forming an image of me we both agreed on. I wanted to be as transparent as I was allowed to and he made sure to do exactly that. It didn’t take long for him to become my official PR manager.

name: tyler gregory okonma date of birth: march 6th, 1991 place of birth: hawthorne, california occupation: musician friends since: 2014/2015

Tyler was one of the funniest aspects of my teenagehood. It was during the Vine phase in 2014 when he’d often hang around my neighbourhood, collecting footage for his growing fanbase. I don’t remember exactly how we got to meet, it was more one of those friendships that developed over time by seeing each other often on the streets. He was one of the biggest jokers I had ever met, always making Benny and me laugh about the stupidest stuff. Tyler quickly became like a brother to me, one I had never had since I was an only child. Thankfully, my dad loved Tyler’s annoying ass as well. He’d always joke how Tyler was a lot to handle, but deep down you knew he was fond of the boy because he’d still custom design different parts for Tyler’s car collection.

Tyler would often drive me to my karting tournaments whenever dad didn’t have the time. He was one of my biggest supporters, yelling so loud from the sidelines I could hear his screams over the motor sounds and right through my thick helmet. Since I didn’t have a mom, Tyler acted like a mom on the track. Tyler can be saying the most out of pocket shit to embarrass me when I'm on the podium saying ‘SMILE FOR THE CAMERA HONEY’ but I appreciated him taking his time to come see me despite him gradually gaining more and more fame through his music.

Tyler would still visit me often in Europe when I started to drive in Formula. I didn’t really fit into the crowd in Europe, so whenever he went overseas he’d make sure to stop by in Brackley. And let me tell you, when Toto first met Tyler he knew he would have this recurring headache for as long as I’m in Mercedes.

name: kali uchis date of birth: july 17, 1994 place of birth: alexandria, virginia occupation: musician friends since: 2018

Kali was the first female friend I had ever had.

Of course I knew about her music before I met her in person. When I joined Tyler in the studio (he had to pick me up from the karting track beforehand), Kali and I instantly clicked. She was the sweetest soul I had ever met, immediately inviting me to join her in the booth, goofing around with Tyler, who loved to act all sassy with us girls. I wasn’t really musically talented, but it was exciting nevertheless to see the process and thoughts behind creating music.

She became somewhat like an older sister, one I could tell all my girl problems and share girly interests with. Call us chismosas if you want, but when things had gone down in our social circles it was like someone had died, it had to be spilled.

Kali was a graceful woman, one I looked up to a lot. She was confident, always dressed in designer clothes from head to toe and walked with such elegance. She was one of those people that immediately got everyone’s attention when entering a room.

Our bond went beyond friendship; it was a sisterhood, a connection that felt like fate had brought us together. Kali Uchis, my partner in crime and fashion, my confidante, and the ultimate queen of slay.

― THE UK FRIEND GROUP

name: andres felipé barrientos / yung filly date of birth: august 6, 1995 place of birth: cali, colombia occupation: youtuber friends since: 2022

I remember the exact moment where I met Filly for the first time. It was in Abu Dhabi 2022, the last race of my final season in Formula 2. I was close to winning the Formula 2 championship, only one more race to go to secure the title. I had distanced myself from my team to collect my thoughts beforehand, trying to get into the zone, when suddenly a voice came up behind me.

I didn’t know who he was at that moment, I just remembered him sitting down next to me. ¿Oye hablas español? He randomly asked me. That is such a weird question to ask a stranger. I laughed out loud. Not going to lie, Filly can spot a latino from a mile away, which explains why he just sat right next to me like he just spawned into a game while I was having a midlife crisis . Apparently, Filly also didn’t know who I was when first meeting me. But he did a really good job to calm my nerves when noticing how nervous I was, giving me a pep talk after realising I was a driver and what situation I found myself in. To this day I like to joke around that without his pep talk I would’ve only driven half as good.

At the afterparty, I went to search for him in order to thank him for his encouraging words. We clicked instantly when celebrating my win and exchanged numbers to keep in touch furthermore. He’s probably my best friend in England.

name: nella rose date of birth: july 20, 1997 place of birth: belgium occupation: youtuber friends since: 2022

It was at a video shoot when Filly introduced me to Miss Nella Rose. Filly had this knack for bringing people together. Now, Nella, is a genuine human in a world of filters and facades, someone you could be completely real with. In a place where everyone's putting on a show, Nella stood out.

I am lucky to have crossed paths with someone so real, someone who made the crazy F1 world feel a little less daunting. She had this magnetic vibe, you know? Not the flashy, showy kind, but the kind that makes you feel like you're talking to an old friend. We clicked instantly, not in a romantic way, but in a 'I’ve-found-my-ride-or-die-friend' way.

It wasn't about the glitz and glam of the F1 world or the YouTube fame – it was about two souls connecting, sharing stories, and laughing like there was no tomorrow.

name: amin mohamed / chunkz date of birth: february, 21 1996 place of birth: london, uk occupation: youtuber friends since: 2022

I met Chunkz the same day I met Nella, courtesy of Filly. He was, like the rest of them, so welcoming and incredibly funny. In a world where everyone's trying to one-up each other, his authenticity was a breath of fresh air.

We hit it off immediately, like, we both have this weird obsession with 90s sitcoms level of connection (Fresh Prince of Bel-Air I might add). His laugh, oh my days, it's contagious. We bonded over memes, terrible dance moves, and, of course, our shared love for fast cars. He was more like a 'this dude is my spirit animal' vibe.

So, yeah, meeting Chunkz that day was like gaining a new teammate, someone who made the F1 circuit feel like a family. In the whirlwind of F1 circuits and YouTube fame, he was that unexpected dose of hilarity that made the day memorable. Chunkz, Nella Rose, and me, all meeting on the same day? That's the kind of plot twist you'd expect in a Netflix teen drama, but hey, it happened.

Life is weird, and sometimes, it's the unexpected friendships that make it hilariously awesome.

name: rúben dos santos gato alves dias date of birth: may 14, 1997 place of birth: amadora, portugal occupation: football player friends since: 2022

The first time I met Rúben, I punched him in the face. Alright, it wasn’t intentional and just a stupid mistake of mine, but thinking about it back now, it’s a pretty funny way to start a friendship.

It was after the Monaco Grand Prix in 2022, so the festivities were quite big and extravagant. However, I was just exhausted up and foremost. Monaco is a great track, but your concentration needs to be at 150% all the time if you want to make it to the end.

So, naturally, I fell asleep on a chair in a more quiet area of the venue where the afterparty took place. Rúben passed me by, noticed me and became concerned for me. He didn’t know whether I passed out from drinking or not, shaking me to see if I was fine. Are you alright? Should I call someone? Should I drive you home? Startled by this unknown stranger waking me up, I punched him in the face when I came to my senses all disoriented. I felt really bad, and so did he. I think we apologised to each other about a dozen times, going back and forth.

As an apology, I invited him for lunch the next time I was in England. We talked a lot about similar interests, about both of our busy schedules and the fast life of being an athlete. He said he’d invite me to one of his games since he saw me racing but I’ve never seen him play. To be honest, football wasn’t something I was very familiar with, so Rúben was keen on explaining the sport to me.

I knew I had found a new friend in him when I laughed so much with him I nearly lost consciousness from the lack of breathing.

― THE FORMULA FRIEND GROUP

name: lewis hamilton date of birth: january 7, 1957 place of birth: stevenage, uk occupation: formula one driver friends since: 2020

When Toto came up to me and made me join the Mercedes Junior Team, my hopes of seeing Lewis Hamilton rose drastically. He was, and is, one of the biggest names in Motorsport and an idol to many younglings in the sport, me included.

I didn’t meet him the first year of staying at Brackley. I was still getting used to adjusting to England, its culture and operating the simulator. Our first unofficial meeting happened in the simulator. I was driving, humming All Eyes On Me by 2Pac when someone behind me said ‘You could’ve taken that turn a little sharper on the apex.’ I didn’t know it was him at the time, too startled by the sudden comment to realise who it came from. His presence made me crash into the barriers.

So when I actually saw him visit the facility in Brackley for the first time, I nearly suffered a heart attack. Toto introduced us, laughing at me when I started to stutter in front of Lewis. I remember my cheeks burning out of embarrassment and hands shaking out of nervosity. I was that nervous I had started speaking in an English accent, that’s when I had to shut up. I think my brain actually stopped working for a second when Lewis said he’d know of me and seen some of my races.

When he became my teammate in the 2023 season, I was beyond the moon excited to work with such an icon. The things I’ve learned and am still learning from him made me grow incredibly as a driver. He’s like a mentor to me, continuing to teach me new things with such enthusiasm, he really keeps me motivated and focused.

name: logan sargeant date of birth: december 31, 2000 place of birth: fort lauderdale, florida occupation: formula one driver friends since: 2019

Oh, Logan Sargeant, where do I even begin with this guy? We go way back, back to the Formula 3 days when we were tearing up the tracks alongside Felipe Drugovich. Logan and I clicked faster than Wi-Fi in a room full of tech geeks. We're both from the States, different coasts but same vibe, you know? We practically dragged Felipe into our adventures everywhere we went.

Even though our ways as teammates parted after one season, we stayed tight. We spent a lot of time together outside of the paddock. Whether it was eating out or visiting the other over summer and winter break in the US: Burgers, beach trips, and a lot of dad jokes (thanks to my old man’s enthusiasm for Logan) – our friendship just kept growing. And guess what? Destiny had more mischief in store for us. From late-night strategy talks to spontaneously exploring new cities, we’ve turned every race weekend into an adventure. My father grew quite fond of Logan, Logan’s enthusiasm for the US matching my dad’s enthusiasm for Mexico.

Fast forward to Formula 1, and bam, we're rookie teammates again, this time with Oscar Piastri thrown into the chaos, he had no other choice but to tag along with us. Forming the ‘2023 Rookies’ group, we were hellbend to become even more iconic than the 2019 rookies. It's like we're on a mission to turn the F1 grid into our playground and so far, dare I say we’re doing a good job at it? Fuck yeah. We’re hell-bent on making our mark, not just on the tracks but in the F1 history books.

name: oscar piastri date of birth: april 21, 2001 place of birth: melbourne, australia occupation: formula one driver friends since: 2020

Ah, Oscar Piastri, my first F2 teammate in 2021. We'd already crossed paths in Formula 3, but back then, he was about as outgoing as a hermit crab. Fast forward a year, and fate decided we should be on the same team. I mean, talk about a plot twist, right? So, here's this dude, quiet as a library on a Sunday morning, and suddenly, we're sharing the same garage.

The first time we actually talked to each other was after our first race of the season. We sat in two ice baths next to each other when he made the first move and quietly tried to start a conversation. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I didn’t even realise he was talking to me. It took him a second try to catch my attention, and then it was like he had opened Pandora's box: I would not shut up for one second after we really got into conversation. I was telling him all the gossip from back home, all the shit that annoyed me, literally everything because he was willing to listen to me rant away.

Oscar Piastri, the man of few words but here for the vibes, became more than a teammate – he became that friend who’d silently judge my questionable music choices and then secretly listen to the same music when he thought no one was watching. It's funny how the quiet ones always surprise you the most, right. That became our dynamic: Me talking his ear off and him listening like his life depended on it. Sometimes I would feel bad for saying so much, but Oscar seemed to be actually interested in hearing about my issues and thoughts. When entering Formula 1 together with Logan, we obviously stuck together a lot as the new rookies. We became the 2023 rookies, the gen Z version of the 2019 rookies. Logan and I were the loud ones, the ones adopting our introverted friend and dragging him with us everywhere. So here's to Oscar, the Aussie from down under for making racing not just about speed, but also about laughter and unexpected friendship.

name: andrea kimi antonelli date of birth: august 25, 2006 place of birth: bologna, italy occupation: motor racing driver friends since: 2019

Becoming part of the Mercedes Junior Team in 2018 and moving from East LA to Brackley, I knew what it felt like to leave your life behind and start anew in a different country. When I first noticed Kimi appearing at the facilities a year later, I immediately felt my heart ache for him. He was new, still somewhat shy and kept to himself a lot. Remembering the same situation I found myself in a year prior, I made it my mission to help him get accustomed to his new surroundings. So I found the only solution possible, I adopted him as my Formula son.

We grew close relatively fast, him loving to annoy the shit out of me and use me as an ATM machine whenever we went out together. I loved spoiling him from time to time, treating him like the little hermano he is to me.

And like the big sister I am, obviously I visited him at his races as much as I could. Vice versa, he’d come to a few of mine as well. I always invited him as my guest, but little Kimi was too shy to meet the senior team and the older grid. I would literally have to drag him to socialise a bit more, reassuring him that none of them would bite him. He’s literally part of the team as well, so why was he acting all shy.

2022 was a big year for both of us, one I like to think back to. With me racing my way up the F2 drivers standings, Kimi was doing the same in F4. Both of us ended up winning the championships simultaneously, I had never been more proud of my little padawan.

tag list: @tpwkstiles @dessxoxsworld @lorarri @elliegrey2803 @inejghafawifesblog @daaiissyyyyy @viennakarma @cha-hot ➫ comment or leave a message in my inbox if you'd like to be added

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maatryoshkaa · 4 years

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between the lines | lee minho

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒!𝐀𝐔

✑ Late fines, shared lockers, and a missing love letter:

In which a frantic search for an overdue library book leads to you finding other things that are...long overdue.

✑ PAIRING: student librarian!minho x bookworm!reader

✑ GENRE: retro!high school au, slow burn, slice-of-life romance, slight enemies-to-lovers shenanigans

✑ WORD COUNT: 9.7k

✖︎ TAGS/WARNINGS: fem!reader, mild language, bullying themes, skz are all around the same age. mc is insecure and a bit of a valentine's day grinch. minho is whipped but too hardheaded to admit it. also, an embarrassing amount of classic literature/pablo neruda references.

Ah, Valentine’s Day.

Call it the most romantic day of the year if you will, but in the treacherous hallways of Levanter High, it meant a minefield of hormonal couples, crushed chocolate boxes, and supermarket rose bouquets. Clutching your backpack with a grimace, you narrowly dodged a pigtailed cheerleader as she leapt into her jock boyfriend’s waiting arms. Turning into another hallway, you plugged your ears to block out a senior boy’s cold rejection of a freshman’s nervous love confession.

You finally caught sight of your locker and breathed a sigh of relief. Levanter High’s lockers were split in half lengthwise—one top row, and one bottom row. You dropped to a crouch to wrench yours open—you’d lost your lock a couple of weeks ago—trying to block out the early morning commotion as you rummaged for your English books.

“Hey, watch ou—”

The locker above yours opened with a screech, and you looked up just in time to see a pink avalanche of cards and chocolates raining down on your head in a painful, deafening crash. The student who had called out the warning was frozen with a comical look of shock on her face. You swore the entire hallway fell silent, blood rushing to your cheeks as you slowly raised your gaze at the person who had opened the locker.

Lee Hana—head cheerleader of Levanter’s pep squad, and in your humble opinion, the spawn of Satan herself.

“Ohmigosh,” she exclaimed, raising one hand to her mouth in mock horror, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

The crowd around you was beginning to snicker and point, and you felt your face growing redder by the minute. “What are you doing here?” You asked tersely, motioning towards the locker above yours. “That’s not even your locker.”

Hana smiled and held up a small, glittery package. Oh. You didn’t have to look closer to know that the envelope was a love letter, elaborately tied to a box of expensive chocolates—the kind your parents would probably have to work overtime to afford. “My Valentine—for your locker buddy,” Hana replied matter-of-factly, then added, “Not that you would understand, hm? Since you’ve never received one yourself, and all.”

A smattering of laughs erupted from the crowd that was building around you. Biting back a retort, you looked down at all the other Valentine’s trinkets that had spilled around you. Of course—you should have gotten used to it by now. After all, your locker was right underneath the one that belonged to the student librarian, school heartthrob, and the absolute bane of your existence, Lee—

“Minho!” Hana exclaimed, and you looked up to see him shuffling through the crowd, his eyes briefly falling on yours. You immediately turned away as the pretty cheerleader skipped up to him, and shoved your books into your bag. Slamming your locker shut—twice, because Levanter’s damned lockers always jammed before shutting properly—you snatched up as many of Minho’s fallen Valentine’s Day trinkets as you could before shoving them back into the now-emptied top locker. The metal door was still swinging wide open. You’d overheard Minho complaining to the boy who always did the announcements—Han Jihyun? Han Jisung?—about how he kept losing his own lock. Both of you seemed to have a habit of misplacing things (not that you liked to admit to that similarity).

Out of the corner of your eye, Minho was still watching you over Hana’s shoulder, his lips tilted in a half-smile. Your gut twisted unpleasantly. Four years and counting—that was how long you’d ended up with a locker right under Minho’s.

“You’re so lucky!” Lia—your best friend—had gushed, while you had scoffed in utter disbelief.

“Oh, sure. Just my rotten luck.”

“Come on, y/n. Are you still hung up about that love letter from freshman year?”

Yes, you had thought sourly. “No way,” you had snapped, and Lia had giggled, unconvinced.

It wasn’t like you’d always had a personal vendetta against Minho. In fact, in ninth grade, you’d been head over heels for him, just like the rest of the student body—to the point where you’d even slipped a small love letter into his locker on Valentine’s Day, too. It had been one of those gaudy 99-cent corner-store cards, and you'd saved up your pocket money just to buy a matching pack of candy hearts. Then you’d spent the day with butterflies in your stomach, anxiously waiting nearby his locker to see his reaction.

But when he hadn’t shown up, you'd shrugged and begun heading home—and that was when you had caught sight of Minho, throwing all the love letters he’d received straight into the Dumpsters in the back parking lot.

Talk about a reality check.

As if that hadn't been traumatizing enough, you’d been forced to face him nearly every morning for the following three years. To make matters worse, being Minho’s involuntary locker mate also meant that all the girls—and guys, for that matter—saw you as little more than a stepping stone to him, always asking you to relay party invitations or trying to curry favour with you to get to him.

“We’re not close,” you’d insist to his persistent admirers every time, but it didn’t help. Minho, on the other hand, you thought bitterly, seemed to think he was too good for anyone—he didn’t even respond much to Hana’s advances, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. There was no way he’d even look twice at you—you’d been firsthand witness to that. You finally gave up trying to clean up the fallen Valentines, and stood up with a sigh. Throwing him a death glare, you pushed past the crowd just as the bell rang and students began scurrying away.

What did it matter if Lee Hana was trying to get with Minho? If anything, they were a match made in heaven. Or hell. With a decided huff, you plopped yourself down at your desk just as your English teacher began class.

“We’re starting the poetry unit today! Remember, you’ll be writing a love poem of your own for the final project—so I suggest you all get started on reading!” You teacher had winked and clapped her hands excitedly while a collective groan had swept through your class. A few couples had nudged each other meaningfully, already promising to write their poems about each other, and you’d thrown up a little in your mouth.

Romance was a bit of a touchy subject for you— now, you didn’t hate the notion of love, per se, you’d just always been somewhat...wary of it. After watching your friends fall in and out of disastrous relationships and fleeting feelings from the sidelines too many times to count, your own defense mechanisms had skyrocketed, and now you found yourself trying not to roll your eyes at every piece of romantic writing you read. Still, this inexperience only made you more determined to get a head start on the topic— and so, once the last bell had rung, you made a beeline for the school library. You would tackle love the only way you knew how to—by hitting the books. Pushing open the door, you overheard Hana and her friends muttering in disappointment and immediately recoiled.

“You said he’d be in here!”

“Well, I thought I saw him! Let’s wait for a bit.”

You peeked over the librarian’s desk, and sure enough, it was vacant— save for a tray of half-shelved books and stamping cards. Maybe Minho left early today, you thought, shrugging. That’s a relief. Then you shook your head quickly. What’s it to me whether he’s here or not? You tried to ignore Hana’s disdainful glance at you, heading straight towards your favourite nook at the back of the library instead: a cozy alcove tucked behind the last row of shelves. With a deep sigh, you pulled out the first book of poetry your teacher had assigned—Shakespeare’s Complete Sonnets—and sank into the bean bag chair.

‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May…’

A couple lines in, and the Englishman’s words were already making your head spin. You grimaced, massaging your temples. ‘A summer’s day?’ Seriously? You could swear you’d seen something less cheesy on a dollar store card. After a couple of pages, you could already feel your treacherous eyelids beginning to droop, fighting to stay awake as you tried to make sense of Shakespeare’s verses. But thy eternal summer...shall not fade...nor lose...possession…

“The library’s closing.”

You jolted awake, hands fumbling blindly before you could even force your eyes open. The library came into focus first—the lights had been dimmed, the flickering EXIT sign from the empty hallway casting a warm glow through the panelled window across the room. A dull headache still throbbed in your temples.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes groggily. You had to practically peel your cheek away from the Shakespeare book, fingers gingerly feeling the dent the cover had left in your cheek. “I-I’m so sorry, I must have—lost track of time studying.”

A familiar chuckle sent your heart plummeting to your stomach. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

When your eyes finally adjusted, your expression automatically soured into a glare.

“Now that’s more like it.” Smirking, Minho crossed his arms, leaning back on a bookshelf. He glanced down at the book in your lap—the book that you clearly hadn’t been studying. “Didn’t know you were one for Shakespeare.”

“I—” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not. His writing gives me a headache. It’s like it’s all in another language or something.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Old English. Why are you reading it, then?”

“We’re doing poetry in class—and our final project is to write an actual love poem, based on the poets we’ll study. Shakespeare was just first on the reading list, so…” you felt yourself trailing off, flustered. Why were you even bothering to explain this to Minho, who probably couldn’t care less? “Nevermind.”

You felt his piercing gaze on you as you shoved your books into your bag, glancing outside at the nearly emptied parking lot. If you squinted, you could spot a couple—Seo Changbin, judging by the male’s iconic leather jacket, and his lover—making out under the bleachers. You shook your head incredulously. Valentine’s Day. Love poems. Hormonal couples galore. It was like the universe was playing a long, cruel joke on you: Ha-ha, look who’s spending Valentine’s Day studying in the library alone.

Well, alone except for a student librarian with whom you had a mortifying history. Not much better. Eager to leave, you got to your feet, only to see Minho flipping through a smaller book he’d pulled off the shelf next to him. “If you want some real inspiration,” he began slowly, pushing up his glasses, “I’d suggest you start closer to our time period.”

You looked down at the book he was holding up, brow furrowing as you read the title out loud. “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. Pablo Neruda.”

“The best Chilean poet of the 20th century,” he nodded. “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving but this.’”

It took you a second to realise Minho was quoting a poem, and you were suddenly grateful that the dimly lit library hid the flush of red that had betrayed your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you mumbled, “That actually sounds...kind of pretty.”

He didn’t look up, but you thought you saw the corners of his mouth shoot up ever so slightly. Maybe the shadows were playing tricks on you? Flipping through the book, Minho fished out a pad of sticky notes from his back pocket and marked a few pages. “Here. ‘The Song of Despair’...‘Tonight I Can Write’...‘Here I Love You.’ Those are good.” Clamping the book shut, he held it out towards you.

You almost thanked him, but the words faltered on your tongue as you took it from him suspiciously. “What’s with the sudden helpful attitude?”

He shrugged. “It’s my job.” You raised an incredulous eyebrow, and he smirked. “Consider it my apology for this morning, then.”

That left you at a real loss for words, and for the first time, you struggled to find a retort. “That’s...considerate of you, apologising on behalf of your girlfriend and all.”

“Hana’s not my girlfriend.”

You breathed a small laugh. “Soon-to-be, then. Don’t break her heart.”

Minho scoffed, bringing the book to the front desk and scrawling your name on the sign-out card. He stamped the dates, then held it out at you before glancing out the window. Dusk had fallen, the empty football field lit only by rows of flickering lampposts. “You can get home safe?”

“Screw off, Lee Minho.” You eyed him warily, shoving the book into your bag before practically running to the double doors. The strange atmosphere that had suddenly built up in the library felt terrifyingly foreign to you, and your first instinct was to be rid of it as soon as possible. In the hallway, you spotted a janitor dumping a bin into a trash bag. A familiar avalanche of pink envelopes and gifts caught your eye, and you felt a wave of humiliation. Just the memory of Minho throwing yours out—after reading it and having a good laugh, no doubt—made you want to ram your head into the lockers all over again. You’ve got no chance with him, y/n, you thought blearily. Right when you’d thought you’d finally come to terms with Minho’s brutal (albeit unintentional) rejection, here he was again: crashing back into your life like some...cat-eyed, pointy-nosed meteor.

“Oh, y/n! One more thing.”

You’d already had one foot out the front door when Minho called your name again, making you jerk your head back in surprise. Minho had his bag slung over one shoulder, a pile of books in his arms as he waved to get your attention. His smile looked almost...genuine in the warm shadows, his round glasses softening his usually sharp gaze. Despite yourself, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Then Minho made a wiping motion over his face and grinned. “You’ve got drool on your chin.”

Your face reddened, and you slammed the library door shut, earning a glare from the janitor down the hall. Smacking the heel of your palm against your forehead repeatedly, you stormed out of the school muttering curses under your breath. Typical Lee Minho.

To your surprise, you practically devoured the poems in less than a week, taken aback at how much you genuinely enjoyed them. It was the first time you didn’t find yourself cringing at romance—and sure enough, in a couple days’ time, you found yourself reluctantly standing back in front of the double doors of the school library once again.

Carefully, you craned your head to peep into the panelled window, scanning the room for Minho. As per usual, a gaggle of girls were huddled on the other side, blocking your view.

“Looking for someone?”

Flinching, you nearly tripped on Hana’s long legs as she came up beside you. Before you could respond, she fixed you with a withering look. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Little Miss Perfect.”

“I—sorry?”

The cheerleader rolled her eyes, sneering. “Don’t act all innocent with me, you sneaky b—”

Sighing, you pushed open the doors before she could finish. Hana followed you into the library, still sputtering angrily. Her hand snatched your arm, French manicure digging painfully into your cardigan.

“The Valentines,” she hissed, and it finally clicked.

She’s talking about the love letters, you realized. The ones Minho throws out every year.

Gut twisting, you looked up to see all the other girls crossing their arms and looking back at you expectantly. “None of you...got a response?” You asked incredulously, already knowing the answer. This happened every year: Expectant admirers showered Minho’s locker with gifts, Minho wouldn’t even glance at them— and then, for some reason, you were left to take the blame. A twinge of annoyance shot through your chest.

“You stole them from his locker, didn’t you?” Hana continued accusingly, pupils shaking. “You sneaky, jealous bitch— of course you did.”

He threw them all out, you wanted to scream back at her, but the words wouldn’t budge from your tongue. Somehow, saying them out loud felt like tearing off the stitches of an old wound; a painful reminder of your personal humiliating memory. And—though you hated to admit it—a small part of you still didn’t have the heart to throw Minho under the bus just yet, even after all that he’d done.

Feeling defeated, you sighed and turned towards her. “Why would I want to do that?”

Hana scoffed, tossing her chocolate curls over one shoulder. “Oh, please. We all know you’ve had a massive one-sided crush on him since ninth grade.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks, the other girls’ snickers at your reaction drowning out any of your protests. “That’s not—”

“Not true? Then—is it mutual?” Hana sneered mockingly. “Don’t make me laugh. He wouldn’t be caught dead with the likes of y—”

“Can I help you with anything?”

The small crowd fell silent as Minho appeared from one of the aisles, eyebrows raised slightly in his usual nonchalant manner. A chill of panic rushed down your spine, palms growing clammy with cold sweat. H-how much did he overhear? In your peripheral, Hana was practically batting her eyelashes at him, but Minho’s mild eyes were focused on yours expectantly.

“I—uh. Well,” you stammered eloquently, your entire body suddenly paralyzed. Hana’s cherry red lips were twisted in a smug smirk, clearly waiting for you to embarrass yourself. “The book,” you blurted, immediately rummaging for the poetry book in your bag and holding it out to him.

Minho took it from you, fingertips grazing yours slightly. They were surprisingly warm. “How’d you find it?”

“R-really good, actually.” Then, you hesitantly added, “I...like the way Neruda uses imagery—he’s precise without being plain, and artful without deviating too much into purple prose. I think I liked Tonight I Can Write the most— y’know, ‘Tonight I can write the saddest lines...’” You swallowed, then instantly began regretting having ever spoken. Great job, y/n, now you sound like a full-blown nerd.

But Minho nodded, his eyes gleaming. “‘I loved her, and sometimes, she loved me, too.’”

“That’s the second verse,” you muttered automatically, and his lips twitched.

“It’s one of my favourite lines.”

The other girls had begun to awkwardly shuffle out of the library, their absence easing your racing heart. With just a few mildly spoken words, you noted, Minho had managed to make you feel as though you had blocked out the rest of the world. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Hana glaring daggers at you, and the small smile dropped from your face.

“Do you need something?” Minho asked her blankly, his gaze trailing down to Hana’s hand, which was still painfully latched onto your arm. With a roll of her eyes, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the library.

As soon as she was gone, you breathed an audible sigh of relief. Minho was peeling the sticky notes off from the poetry book you’d returned, eyes still watching you intently. Giving him the side-eye, you deadpanned, “She’s pretty, you know. Maybe you should go talk to her sometime.”

There was a small smile on Minho’s lips. “Does she like Chilean poetry?”

You could only give a short—slightly too shaky for your liking—laugh in response, ruffling your own hair as you tried to calm your frazzled nerves. Don’t forget, y/n. One, that he’s out of your league. Two, how this was all his fault to begin with.

“Is that all you came here for?” Minho’s voice broke into your thoughts again, making you jump. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes. He finds this—me—amusing.

“Well…” you looked down at your feet, then grudgingly nodded at the poetry book you’d just returned. “Do you...have any other recommendations?”

Minho’s face broke into a shit-eating grin, and you bit back a groan. before your pride got the better of you and you changed your mind, he was already heading towards the back of the library, sliding books out as you struggled to keep with his pace. “First of all, Dickinson. Hit-or-miss, but you never know. Then there’s Sylvia Plath, some Emily Brontë…”

Before you knew it, you’d been whisked into a world of verse and metaphor, flying between numerous time periods and continents as you and Minho perused the shelves. Just like the time when you had accidentally fallen asleep in the library, the library seemed to grow cozier, quieter, more peaceful during moments like these, as if the entire world was holding still as you lost yourself in pages upon pages of books. Soon, you found yourself heading to the library nearly every day after school. Despite yourself, you found yourself looking forward to that sunset hour, the fleeting period where most students had left, and the entire library would glow warm as though it were blushing under the swathes of golden light. And in these same fleeting moments, you found your gaze lingering more and more on Minho—the way he would push his silver glasses on, furrowing his brow in concentration whenever he searched for a book, or run his long fingers over their worn spines whenever he was lost in thought—

“Like what you see?” With a flinch, you realised Minho had begun walking back towards you, a crooked smirk on his lips as he set a new pile of books down at the desk you were sat at.

“No!” You snapped, too quickly. “Just—spaced out for a bit. Too concentrated on the project.”

The smirk hadn’t budged from Minho’s face, and you resisted the urge to throw a copy of Emily Dickinson’s Selected Poems at his long, pointy nose. “Mm. You seem to be coming here a lot more often.”

“That’s because the due date is coming up.”

“No. I mean, you seem to be talking to me a lot more.”

You rolled your eyes, snatching a book from the top of his pile as you muttered, “Screw you, Lee Minho.”

His eyebrows shot up in wicked mischief. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

With a cry of exasperation—and surprise at having been heard—you hoisted your book bag onto the table, building a makeshift wall between the two of you.

You didn’t catch the way Minho’s laughter slowly faded as he rested his head on one hand thoughtfully, quietly watching you read. Your lips were pursed in concentration as you muttered your notes under your breath. Cute, he couldn’t help thinking.

Minho had always been good at memorizing things, but he couldn’t remember exactly when you’d begun disliking him so much. You had always intrigued him—what with the way your locker always seemed to be overflowing with books, or how you used to lend him your copy when he forgot his, back in ninth grade. That Valentine’s Day, four years ago, your name had been the only one he’d hoped to find as he rifled through the cards he’d received. But he’d come up empty, and so he’d thrown them all out. And for some reason, you’d been cold to him ever since.

Minho had assumed that you were probably annoyed with all the letters that would fall out of his locker and onto you, and so every year he tried his best to get rid of the Valentines as soon as possible. Nevertheless, you only seemed to be getting more and more annoyed with him.

And now here you were, right in front of him, four years later, and he still couldn’t bring himself to ask you why. Confrontation had never been his strong suit—his words always seemed to come out too blunt, too cold, too soon, and so he’d always avoided bringing it up with you again. Minho sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Written words—that is, books—had always been so much easier than people.

He did, however, remember when he’d started falling for you.

Tenth grade, literature studies. He’d begun arguing against your thesis during one of your presentations, and the two of you had ended up bickering the entire class—pulling out quotes from nearly every chapter of Pride and Prejudice before the class president had to intervene, and your teacher had sent you both to detention.

You had glared at him once, and he’d fallen head over heels.

These violent delights have violent ends, he’d mused in his head back then—Romeo and Juliet—and with the murderous stare Minho sometimes caught you fixing him with, he was willing to bet that you were wishing a violent end on him, too.

He couldn’t pen a love letter to save his life, either— and so, he resorted to pettily glaring at any admirer that approached your locker like Gandalf—you shall not pass—until they backed off. Minho didn’t think you would appreciate him revealing that, either. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous his actions seemed—and like a poorly written plot twist, you had ended up stumbling back into his life again. Never in his life, however, did Minho think that Pablo Neruda would become his wingman. Glancing down at his portrait on the back cover of the book, Minho could almost imagine the Chilean poet pointing his pen threateningly: “Don’t screw this up.”

“Hey, Minho?” He snapped out of his thoughts to see you waving your hand at him from the other side of your book bag. “You were right. I don’t get any of Dickinson’s poems.”

Your words took a moment to register, Minho caught off-guard by the soft golden hour light illuminating your pretty features. You waved your hand in his face again, and he blinked, breath caught in his throat. Almost tripping over his tongue, he finally quipped, “How on earth are you passing AP English?”

You glowered and smacked his shoulder, the near-silent library ringing with Minho’s laughter once again.

With a week left to the deadline, you were planted at your desk in your room, the wastebasket littered with crumpled up half-sheets of notebook paper. To your dismay, none of the words seemed to be coming out the way you wanted them to. Gnawing the back of your pencil in frustration, you dumped the contents of your book bag onto the desk, and spotted your latest library book—100 Love Sonnets, by Pablo Neruda. Inexplicably, out of all the poets Minho had introduced to you, you always found yourself coming back to him.

Flipping through the well-thumbed pages, your fingers stopped at one titled Sonnet XVII. “I love you without knowing how,” your eyes scanned the verse curiously, “or when, or from where. I love you simply…”

It was the poem Minho had quoted that evening in the library, you realized, heart skipping a beat. “...without problems or pride / I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving / but this, in which there is no I or you / so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand / so intimate that when I fall asleep, your eyes close.”

With a sigh, you buried your head in your arms, lying face-down onto the desk. Maybe the reason why you instinctively disliked reading love poems so much was because of the sheer sincerity of them all. You envied their ability to put feelings into words—with unabashed, unapologetic ardour, and be celebrated for it, to boot. Eyes scanning the verses again, your mind wandered to the way Minho’s eyes had lit up as he’d explained the lines to you, his brow furrowed in focus.

At Levanter High, you had grown used to being pushed around and out of the spotlight. It was either the popular girls and their backhanded compliments, or the boys who spoke to you condescendingly just to a) get you to do their homework, or b) get in your pants. But Minho had always taken you seriously, albeit while driving you half-insane with his infuriating remarks. And as much as you hated to admit it, that same fiery look in his eyes whenever he got worked up—so different from his usual reserved facade in front of the teachers and swooning students—had always made your heart skip a beat. In tenth grade—back when he seemed to pick a fight with you nearly every English class until Bang Chan had to hold the two of you back from killing each other—you’d thought you’d successfully quashed your feelings for the mild-voiced, hazel-eyed librarian. Yet every time he spoke, he left you feeling vulnerable, disarmed, and you were back—though you refused to admit it—to square one.

“‘I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul,’” you whispered, fingers tracing the words on the paper. Feeling a sudden surge—of confidence, or simply exasperation, you weren’t sure—you seized the pen and began scribbling on a new piece of paper. For years, you’d been afraid to face your feelings, terrified of the humiliation if Hana—or anyone at school—found out. But if getting them all out in one cheesy, hot mess of a love letter could give you some closure, you thought tensely, you were more than happy to oblige. You would write it all out under the guise of a love poem, and then it would never have to see the light of day again.

Words began coming to your head like a floodgate had been thrown wide open, and you began scrawling onto the page. “‘I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers,’” you quoted thoughtfully as you drafted your own poem. In a way, it felt cathartic—you could get all your feelings out, pass it off as an assignment, and never think about the forbidden fruit again. For all you knew, it was a win-win situation. The pen kept wobbling, ink spilling out haphazardly and skipping, but you relaxed slightly. Maybe this assignment wasn’t too bad, after all.

Head filled to the brim with poetry, you set the pen down and dozed off.

“You’re not coming to the football game?” Lia flashed puppy eyes at you, and you smacked her hand playfully, swiping a french fry from her plate.

“Lia, since when have I ever gone to one?” The two of you had dropped by the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe for a quick pick-me-up during lunch hour, but one smile from the cute waiter—Yang Jeongin, if you remembered his name correctly—had dazzled Lia into ordering an extra burger combo, complete with a plate of fries. “Sports and crowds—not my thing. And I have an English project due the next day.”

She pouted. “Oh, come on! Knowing you, you’ve probably already finished it by now.”

You grinned, thinking back to your love poem and fighting the urge to cringe. You’d read it the morning after, and it had taken every fibre in your being to hold yourself back from ripping it to shreds. Piercing, catlike eyes, you’d written in one line. Silver spectacles. Long fingers on dusty pages. Shuddering, you’d stuffed it into the Neruda book before banishing them both to your locker and going about your day. Love poems are supposed to be cheesy, y/n, suck it up. It’ll only be this one time. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone other than your teacher would ever read it.

When you dropped by the library after school, you spotted Hana’s familiar figure by one of the cubicles. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder with a laugh muted by the plexiglass windows, you saw that she was talking to a grinning Minho.

“Are you sure you’re not coming to the game on Thursday?” Hana was whining as you pushed open the doors to the library. She patted his arms playfully. “You could be on the football team if you wanted to, you know! Why don’t you try?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not that quick on my feet.”

“Well, tell you what. They’re having a party at Hyunjin’s place right after—his parents are out of town. If you don’t feel like coming to the game, at least join us at the afterparty to loosen up a little—have a little fun.” She blew him a kiss and stood, throwing her purse over her shoulder and spotting you. You instinctively froze, bracing yourself for whatever slew of insults she had for you today, but all Hana did was beam and wave at you.

As she passed you by the door, she threw you a knowing wink. “Have fun on your little study date!”

Her words made your ears grow hot again, but to your surprise, there was no trace of venom in her voice — only a lighthearted teasing, as if she had been your friend all along. Hana really did look sweet when she smiled genuinely, and you could see why she had so many people easily wrapped around her finger. Maybe people do change. Or she’s just in a good mood. Before you could shrug and turn away, you sensed Minho’s presence behind you and yelped.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, and you could swear he was suppressing a laugh. “Here to work on your project again?”

Hana’s strange exchange with you on her way out had left your mind reeling, and you scrambled to form coherent sentences. “No, I, um—I actually finished it last night. I just…” Thought I’d just drop by to say hi. But your pride turned the words to mush before they had even formed, and you ended up trailing off awkwardly.

“Really?” There was a flash of disappointment in his face, then Minho’s gaze landed on the book-borrowing register on the front desk. “Right—your book is due today. Did you want to return it?”

Your eyes widened, silently cursing at your own forgetfulness. “Um—yes,” you lied, pretending to search in your bag before giving an awkward laugh. “Yep. I think it’s in my locker—let me go get it.”

After jogging to the other side of the school, you flung open the bottom locker, making another mental note to replace your missing lock. Still catching your breath, your hand sifted through the notes and textbooks before coming up empty. Where is it? You could swear you remembered putting it there, unless—

Breath catching in your throat, you shut the locker with a mortified bang. The English classroom. You practically sprinted down the hallways, earning another dirty look from the janitor as you raced past. Bang Chan looked up in alarm when you nearly crashed into the English classroom door. The entire room was empty, save for the class president, who looked like he was helping to file the teacher’s papers.

“Where’s the fire?” He asked jokingly as your eyes frantically raked the room.

“Have you—seen a book, by any chance? 100 Love Sonnets. Pablo Neruda.”

Chan frowned. “We shelve all the books after class, and if it’s one we don’t recognize, we keep it until the students come back in the morning.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember seeing anything.”

Your heart sank, and you saw the corners of Chan’s mouth lift bemusedly.

“What’s the hurry, anyway? I thought you hated love po—”

With a groan of frustration, you left the baffled class president staring after you as you turned on your heel and back into the hallway. Your mind was racing, panic making your ears buzz. The love letter’s in there. Where the hell did I put it? You sprinted to the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe next, but only got an apologetic shrug from Jeongin even after you’d scoured every nook and cranny of the diner. The sun was already beginning to set as you trudged, defeated, back to the school. Spotting the library’s dim windows in the distance, you wrestled with your options — if it weren’t for that cursed love letter, you could’ve probably just told Minho you’d misplaced it. But now the book—along with everything you’d never dared to tell anyone, crammed onto a sheet of notebook paper—could be anywhere, and there was no way in hell you were going to stop looking until you found it. Heart heavy with dread, you did a full 180 and began walking home.

It was no use. You’d practically pulled an all-nighter tearing your room apart searching for the book— and then, the better part of the following day running around town. But no matter where you looked—the record shop, Blockbuster’s, or even the laundromat—you came up empty.

It’s like it’s disappeared entirely, you thought as the lunch ladies piled your tray with a few sad-looking burritos. The cafeteria was buzzing with teenagers jittery with caffeine and sugar, and you had to duck as a boy chucked an apple at another across the room. You passed the cheerleaders’ table, trying to avoid eye contact, but their giggly conversation carried over the chaotic commotion.

“Did you see how cute Hyunjin looked today on the field?”

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend? Maybe Hana can talk to him for us—if he doesn’t fall for her first.” The blonde cheerleader that had spoken nudged the older girl insistently.

“Me?” There was a smile in Hana’s voice. You could feel her eyes on you as she mused, “Oh, I don’t know, Hyunjin’s not my type. I much prefer boys with—how should I put it—catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long fingers perfect for turning dusty pages…” She clasped her hands together in mock adoration, and her friends erupted in giggles.

“What the hell was that? Sounds like a cheesy love poem.”

You had frozen stiff as soon as she had uttered the words, stunned eyes finding Hana’s only a couple feet away. She gave you a winning smile—the same one you’d deemed friendly just a couple days ago—and winked.

“Give me my book back.”

You pulled her aside after the last bell had rung, voice shaking. Hana only tilted her head innocently, eyes round as a puppy’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before you could spit a biting retort back at her, the taller cheerleader tapped her chin thoughtfully with one bejewelled nail. “But I might think harder if...I got a little something in return.”

You grit your teeth. “What do you want?”

“Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party as my date,” Hana beamed, “and tell the office you want to change your locker.”

“You’re crazy,” you blurted, and her face immediately darkened. Dropping her voice, she leaned in closer, until her voice was right beside your ear.

“Oh, I can be even crazier. What would happen if I made copies of this little letter on Monday, hm? Or published it in the school paper for everyone to read? I’m sure Han Jisung would love that—”

Your eyes trailed down to the slip of paper she’d pulled out of her purse, the sight of your own familiar handwriting making panic surge through your veins like ice. Snatching it from her hand, you quickly began tearing it apart before noticing the calm smirk on Hana’s face.

“Photocopy, silly,” she giggled in a sing-song voice as you peered more closely at the shredded pieces, hands shaking. “Oh, all right, don’t cry. If you want the original so badly…” she leaned in again, cruel smile on her lips. “Then you might want to look in the library.”

Eyes widening, you immediately pushed her away and bolted for the stairs. “Don’t forget the deal! Thursday night,” Hana called after you, and you broke into a run.

Most of the classrooms were already empty, their dark windows reflecting your own face back at you as you hurtled past them. Your heart pounded in your chest as the library finally came into view at the end of the hallway, but you nearly came to a screeching halt when you saw that the lights had been turned off. Had Minho gone home early? Chewing your lip anxiously, you peered past the plexiglass. Aisles empty, books all shelved neatly, chairs stacked. The library was quiet as a tomb. Desperately, you tried the knob—and to your surprise, the door creaked open. Maybe he forgot to lock it. You had nothing to lose. Holding your breath, you slipped in.

Even the faint click of the door closing again sounded deafening. You rifled through the front desk first, dropping to a crouch as you inspected the carts and borrowing-bin. To your dismay, they were all empty—they must have all been re-shelved already. Heart sinking, you began tip-toeing through the shelves, fingers trembling as they ran over the laminated Dewey Decimal labels. Please, please, please…

You reached the poetry section at the back of the library, eyes squinting to try and read the spines of the books under shrouds of shadows. Poets— Nash. Naidu. Nemerov…

“Neruda,” you gasped, eyes falling on the book you had practically gone through hell searching for. 100 Love Sonnets. Almost sobbing in sheer relief, you reached out to grab it—just as another hand shot out from beside you. Your yelp of surprise broke the still, dim quiet, and you didn’t have to look up to know who the warm, pale fingers belonged to.

“Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

Spectacles glinting under the twilight, one hand in his pocket, nonchalant as ever, was the boy that had gotten you into this mess. Lee Minho.

As you stared back at him, mouth slightly agape, you felt as though your entire world was balancing precariously over a yawning abyss— as if one wrong move would send everything you’d spent the last two months—no, the last four years—repatching. You swallowed hard. His hand had landed a split-second later than yours, holding both you and the book in place, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his warm fingers on your chilled skin. Forcefully, you yanked the book from the shelves and out of his grasp. “The—book. I-I realised I still needed it for the project. It’s due this Friday, you know.”

He raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. “Today’s only Wednesday. Why not come back tomorrow morning?”

Shit. “I, um, promised Lia I’d go with her to the game tomorrow,” you fibbed, flipping through the book quickly, ready to grab any stray piece of paper that flew out. Nothing. “So I—need to finish the assignment today. Could you renew it for me?” Trying to plaster on an unbothered smile, you flipped through the book again. Still nothing. Had Hana lied to you?

In your peripheral, you saw Minho slowly shift his weight, crossing his arms as he mused, “Well, I’m not too sure about that. We’re getting...careful about letting students borrow books for too long. People tend to leave some...strange things in them.”

Your eyes snapped up, fingers freezing on the fluttering pages. “What—then did you—see anything? S-strange, I mean.”

A flicker of amusement passed through Minho’s eyes, and then it was gone. He cleared his throat, humming thoughtfully. “Why? Do you have something in mind?”

The strange intensity of his gaze seemed to corner you into the shadows, and you swore your heart was pounding so hard it seemed to echo through the room. “Nothing,” you stammered, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “I mean, I just—accidentally left—” Kill me now. You shook your head rapidly. “N-nevermind. I’m heading home.”

“Y/N—”

“Oh, one more thing.” You turned, remembering Hana’s sly words to you back in the stairwell. “You’re invited to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, after the game on Thursday.” Then, hoping you sounded more convincing than you felt, “Hana’s really counting on you to be her date.”

Minho chuckled. “You know I go to parties as often as you do.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in his words, only that same, airy indifference Minho always carried himself with. “Please? Hana—I mean, it would make her really happy if you went.”

“Would you be happy?”

The strange question caught you off guard, making you look up again. Minho was no longer smiling. His hand was still resting lightly over the missing space the book had left on the shelf, and his expression looked strangely lost under the twilit sky.

“Would it make you happy if I went?” He repeated, and you felt your mouth go dry.

Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, and I won’t publish your little love letter for everyone to see on Monday. You nodded firmly, laughing in an attempt to ease the strange atmosphere that had settled over the two of you once again. “Y-yeah. Ecstatic.”

You turned on your heel, breath leaving your lips in a shaky sigh. If the poem wasn’t in the book, where on earth could it be? Option one: It had fallen out somewhere along the way, and hadn’t fallen into anyone’s hands. The best case scenario. Option two: Hana had been playing with you again, and she had had the original all along. Option three…

“By the way, Hana told me not to give this to you.”

You whirled around in surprise, and your eyes landed on a horribly familiar piece of notebook paper dangling from Minho’s fingers. Option three, damn it all. Mortified, you snatched it from his hand, crumpling it into your fist as he laughed lightly.

“It’s a very good poem.”

“Shut up, Lee Minho,” you wailed, wishing the ground would just swallow you up and bury you six feet under for all of eternity. “It’s a cheesy, cliché wreck.”

He hummed in amusement. “What were you writing about?”

Paralyzed, your eyes flickered towards the window before sputtering, “The—sunset. Figurative approach, you know? Emily Dickinson-inspired—”

“Mm. Then what was that quote about—” He tilted his head in thought, fingers snapping. “Catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long—” He stopped when you plugged your ears instinctively, eyes glowering at him in disbelief. If looks could kill, Minho was sure he’d now have died more times than the characters in a Shakespearean tragedy. “—was that about the sunset, too?”

“Of course,” you snapped, your voice a tad too pitchy for your liking. Damn Lee Minho and his knack for memorizing things. “Haven’t you ever heard of extended metaphors? Rest assured, Lee Minho—I will never, ever, ever—have feelings for you.” You crumpled the sheet of poetry into a ball as you spoke with a note of finality, jamming it into your back pocket for good riddance.

Minho looked unfazed, the light curve of a knowing smile playing on his lips. After a moment, he took a step towards you, making you stumble back in alarm. “‘You can cut all the flowers,” he mused, glancing down at the crumpled love letter, “‘but you cannot stop spring from coming.’”

“Wh-wha—”

“Neruda quote. Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable, and I’ll stop,” he murmured, eyes growing serious for a moment before his lips twitched with mirth, “but something tells me I deserve to hear more about that sunset from your poem.”

Gulping, you felt hot tears brimming in your eyes, and suddenly wished you were anywhere but here. This confrontation had been your worst nightmare, what you had always wanted to avoid. Your pride’ll be the end of you, y/n, you remembered Lia remarking when you’d sworn up and down that your feelings for Lee Minho were a thing of the past. And it was true—your pride had always gotten the better of you. You were a hypocrite, and a terrible one at that—always telling yourself you had gotten over that stupid, ninth-grade heartbreak, before unravelling into a nervous mess whenever Minho so much as threw a glance at you. And now, you could feel everything you’d feebly repressed for the last four years caving in. Crashing down on you like an avalanche of cheap supermarket chocolates.

“It was about you. You, alright?” You hissed, voice coming out more wounded, rather than venomous like you’d intended. “There. Are you happy now?” You were glad the shadows hid the humiliated tears beginning to roll down your cheeks, and wiped at your eyes furiously. Damn it all. So much for not crying.

“Then why didn’t you—”

“Say anything?” You breathed a short laugh. “Because I didn’t want to see you just throw it out again, okay?”

The silence that met your words was deafening, and when you finally mustered the courage to lift your gaze you saw that Minho’s look of disbelief mirrored your own.

“'Again?'”

Damn Lee Minho and his two-faced ass. Had he already forgotten? “In ninth grade. I left you a—stupid love letter in your locker, with all your other Valentines. Then I s-saw you throwing them all out, behind the school.”

“But I read every name on the cards,” Minho insisted, running a hand through his tousled hair. I left you—a stupid love letter in your locker. Your words sent his head spinning, and he felt his flustered cheeks heat up as he mumbled, “I’ve never—seen yours on any of them.”

Now it was your turn to blink in confusion. Minho’s brow furrowed in vague recollection. “But I did see Hana pulling an envelope out from my locker that day. She said that—she’d heard someone had been sending chain mail on Valentine’s Day, so she was helping the principal clean them up from people’s lockers.”

Hana? Your mind flashed to the missing locks, and the cheerleader that always seemed to be hanging around your locker, and suddenly everything dawned on you. “What did the envelope look like?”

“A corner store card. With—”

“Candy hearts. Right.” You muttered, watching Minho nod slowly. Your anger faltered slightly, feeling a slight shame wash over you, but you weren’t willing to give up just yet. “That still doesn’t explain why you dump out all the gifts you get every year.”

He sighed. “Look. Why would I keep love letters from people I don’t like? That’s just...narcissistic. And I don’t...like chocolate, either,” he added as an afterthought, and you couldn’t help exhaling a short laugh at his ridiculously blunt sentence. Another silence fell between the two of you, the angry tension in the air replaced with an almost childish awkwardness.

“I really did like the poem,” Minho spoke tentatively after what felt like an eternity, and you buried your head in your hands.

“Shut up, Lee Minho, oh my g—”

“And I wouldn’t have thrown it out.” The soft edge to his voice made you stop, peeking out of your fingers to look at him questioningly.

“Why not?” You asked, swallowing hard. “You said keeping letters from someone you don’t like would be narcissistic.”

He was barely a foot away, and the sheer proximity of his face from yours made your stomach flop—with irritation or butterflies, you weren’t sure you wanted to find out. Nonetheless, a tiny voice at the back of your head told you that you were heading towards the latter.

“You know, for someone who reads so many books, you sure are dense,” Minho murmured, shaking his head.

“Wh—”

“I throw out all my Valentines every year because I never see your name on them, alright?” His expression was as careless as ever—that cool, calm facade he wore like a suit of armour—but you didn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice, the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. Lee Minho, you realized with a jolt, was nervous. “I...only ever wanted to receive one from you.”

Your eyes widened, hands lowering from your face in shock. The book tumbled from under your arm to the ground. “But—Hana always told me about how much you hated me.”

“Hmm.” He dropped down to pick it up before fixing his piercing eyes on yours. “Funny. She’s been telling me the same about you. How you’re a two-faced, back-stabbing...such-and-such,” he smiled at the indignant look on your face before his face grew serious. “You’ve always let people walk all over you, and you never retaliate. It’s both admirable and frustrating to watch.”

“I’m not good at confrontation,” you mumbled, still shifting your weight from one leg to the other nervously. “Every time I think I’ve finally got the guts to try and say something back, I...I get all terrified that the words’ll jumble up and I-I’ll start to cry like an idiot again—”

“You’re not an idiot,” he interrupted sternly, “You’re probably more clever—and genuine—than everyone in our grade combined. Your thesis was brilliant.”

You snorted incredulously. “Then why did you keep attacking it every class?”

“It was the only time I could get you to talk to me.”

“Weirdo,” you muttered, but you couldn’t find it in you to make the word sound insulting anymore. Minho chuckled, hand grazing yours as he handed the book back to you. You didn’t move your hand away, and neither did he.

“It is weird. I must be out of my mind. Whenever you look at me, it’s like the whole world stops, and suddenly every cheesy line of poetry I’ve ever read just seems to make sense.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you were more than certain Minho could hear it. The way he was looking at you was nearly overwhelming, stomach fluttering with a feeling so strange and foreign it terrified you. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought that you would be here, in this delicate, unreal moment, and you felt all your insecurities threatening to swallow you up again. Out of everyone in the school, he likes you? A voice snickered at the back of your mind. Don’t kid yourself.

Shrinking away, you mumbled, “Y-you—don’t have to say stuff like that, you know. I mean, i-if you feel bad because of the letter and everything, you don’t have to pretend you lik—”

There was a flash of an exasperated smile on Minho’s lips. Before you could finish, his hand reached to pull your chin towards him again, and suddenly his mouth was pressed flush to yours. You froze, lips parting in surprise, but the kiss was light—barely even a brush of soft skin, and bringing with it the faint scent of vanilla and old books. Minho pulled away almost as quickly as he’d pulled you in, stammering, “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

That seemed to send what was left of your hesitation crumbling into dust. You grabbed the collar of his dress shirt to pull him back in, and the library fell silent again.

Minho kissed the way he talked—soft but firm, and always leaving you struggling to catch your breath. Each touch had the growing intensity of something long overdue, starting out careful—as though you were treading over the newly shattered, four-year-old misunderstandings of one another—before your hands instinctively tangled in his hair and Minho pulled you in impossibly closer. You could feel his heartbeat pressed against yours, the crumpled poem and Neruda’s sonnets long forgotten on the carpeted ground.

The click of the library door opening sent the two of you flying apart, Minho hitting his head on the shelf with a comical thud. The kiss left you dazed and out of breath, and Minho’s face was flushed as both of you whipped around to see a livid Hana at the front of the library. Mouth opening and closing in silent fury, she shot you a death glare before storming out the door, leaving both you and Minho blinking after her.

Several moments passed, the whiplash of the unexpected interruption having sent both of your heads reeling. Then, the two of you broke into stunned laughter, slowly sliding down to the carpet as you doubled over in giggles.

When you finally stopped laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, Minho’s gaze was fixed fondly on your face. You poked his cheek. “You’re blushing, asshole.”

He didn’t respond, eyes falling to your lips again, and you felt your own face flush. “W-what?”

Minho grinned. “And you have drool on your chin again.”

“Hey, Minho! Minho, you won’t believe this!”

That enthusiastic voice belonged to none other than Han Jisung—voice of Levanter High’s morning announcements, and notorious school gossip. He hurtled down the bustling hall towards you and Minho, hunching over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Shit, ‘sung—did you kill somebody?”

The dark-haired boy shook his head rapidly. “Did you see the school newspaper?”

Your mouth went dry, Hana’s lingering threats still ringing clear in your ears. Jisung continued excitedly, “Two people submitted anonymous love poems over the weekend—at the same time! Can you believe it? I’m supposed to cover it on the announcements in a bit!”

Two? You peered at Minho, who hadn’t looked at you, and glimpsed a knowing glint in his eyes. “W-who submitted them?”

“Well, Lee Hana was handing out copies of the first one to everyone first thing this morning. But when I showed her the other one, she refused to tell me who the first belonged to.” He pouted.

Minho looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. “Do you have a copy of the paper, ‘sung?”

The dark-haired boy grinned. “Yeah, ‘course! You guys can have mine. See ya!”

As Jisung disappeared into the crowd of students, you turned back to Minho. He had been in the middle of putting a new lock on your locker, and was now setting the combination on his own. “They’re matching,” he’d pointed out when you’d gone into town together to buy them, and you’d groaned.

“Gro-oss.” The old, PDA-hating you would have probably thrown them away on the spot, but now the sight made you smile like a dork. If you can’t beat em, join ‘em.

You looked down to read the papers Jisung had deposited into your hands. Sure enough, on the left column, you spotted a photocopy of your own love letter. But on the right, there was a completely new one—and you had a sneaking suspicion you knew who the anonymous writer was.

“You know, Minho,” you deadpanned, “I don’t think either of us are cut out to be poets.”

“I stayed up all night writing that love letter, you know!” Minho exclaimed indignantly, and you just shook your head laughing. “But you’re right. I could feel Neruda turning in his grave.”

“You’re going to be the end of me, Lee Minho.”

His face broke into a mischievous grin at that, pinning you playfully to the lockers and stealing another kiss as you yelped in surprise.

“Can it be a happy ending?”

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saabbi · 3 years

Text

Regret part 9

Light in darkness

Genshin Impact Adeptus! reader

warnings: self-deprecation, imposter syndrome

word count: ~1.7k

notes: please remember that you are loved, and not just in the fic itself.

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No words are needed to exchange. Zhongli must surely be curious, worried even, to find out what happened in Snezhnaya. But he remained quiet, pushing away the rampant thoughts running across his mind.

What’s most important isn’t digging out what happened, but that you’re alright and safe.

Zhongli doesn’t miss the pale complexion on you, making sure to swing by Bubu Pharmacy to ask Baizhu for some antiseptic cream and aspirin just in case you’re still feeling unwell.

He brought you to his residency, which is unsurprisingly close to the funeral parlour. A few sprouting flowers in the interior caught your eye, the blue distinguish colour resembles that of a jewel. It must be a good season for glazed lilies to grow and bloom.

“Would you like tea?” Zhongli turns his head to you, holding up a few cups.

“Yes, please.” He also takes out some cakes, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him that you’re way too full for some tea snacks.

Zhongli is definitely inquisitive, his occasional glances and slight frown shows that he has much more to say apart from asking if you want tea and snacks.

But he didn’t ask you any questions, never pressuring you into telling him. He decided to wait until you feel ready to talk about it. For you, he can always wait.

You hold the cup in your palms, the warmth gradually spreading to your whole body.

“Zhongli,” you take a sip of the refreshing tea, making up your mind. “Can you ask Ganyu and Xiao to come? I… have something to tell you all.”

Zhongyi nervously nods with his heart thumping, not sure if he’s ready to hear what you have to tell them.

Silence fills the room, then your sharp inhales, the unsteady voice and shaking pupils as you begin to speak.

Your shaking voice, your spilling emotions, your trembling hands. The suffocating feeling in your heart and the bitterness in your throat. You keep on going, you can’t think straight, you feel light headed and exhausted, but you want to keep going. You want to tell them, the things you saw, the things you felt, the worthlessness eating you away.

Ganyu tugs your arm and hugs them tightly, Zhongli and Xiao each resting a hand on yours to remind you that they’re here. They let you keep going, even if you look like you’re in pain.

They listen in silence, allowing you to spill everything in the safe space. You stop for a second, hearing sniffles from the horned girl next to you.

Ganyu shakes her head, telling you that she’s okay, and that you can go on.

With trembling eyes and hoarse voice, you tell them, how you thought you would be okay even if the Tsarista didn’t need you anymore, thought it would be okay even if she throws you away. But you weren’t, your heart sunk to the bottom when she implied that you’re no longer needed, as if all the time you spent by her side as a faithful subordinate meant nothing to her.

You mentioned that you know the Tsarista is only interested in the power you possess, you repeatedly told yourself that if it’s what the Tsarista desires, you shall comply without any hard feelings, for you are her harbinger, her title-less twelfth harbinger.

So why did it hurt so much? Why did you feel something worse than physical pain? Like you were stabbed with thousand swords, mercilessly piercing you without a break, making you lose your breath and vision cloudy.

It felt like the world crumbled, blood rushing to your head and the sudden heaviness taking over your body.

Oh. In the midst of talking your own feelings out, you realised- you felt angry, desperate, hurt, betrayed.

You realised, that over the years, loyalty is not the only thing that sprouted. You always brushed it off, pretending like it never existed, but deep down, you felt angry.

Angry at the Tsarista for pulling you away from Liyue, angry at her for letting you go through terrible things, even if you can’t remember clearly what happened.

The mixture of admiration, loyalty, desperation and anger has always stuck within you whenever you see her cold yet graceful figure.

But you had nothing except her, so you clung onto your loyalty towards her and repressed other thoughts of her, ignoring the tingling senses and blindly telling yourself that you’re always loyal to the Tsarista.

Every single word that comes out, Zhongli takes them in all, even if it pricks his heart like thorns. He takes a deep breath and shuts shis eyes, he wants it to stop. But he knows he has to listen and share your burden.

He wants to listen, even if it hurts, lamenting for the times he couldn’t be there for you. But now, he could. And the least he could do is to listen to you.

In the past, Zhongli failed miserably as a guardian, but now he has the chance to be with the three of his beloved adepti once again. He’s the listener, he’ll always be willing to listen to you if you confide in him.

Zhongli takes one last gulp of his tea. He embraces the crushing pain in his heart and clasp your hand tightly.

You stutter and choke out some incomplete sentences in the process, words tying into knots, but it’s okay. There’s no need for you to rush, they have all the time and undivided attention for you to tell them whatever you want.

Your right hand feels like it’s about to be crushed, somehow. You glance over to the side and is met with another pair of amber eyes.

Glossy eyes filled with uncertainty, concern and shock. His mouth gaped open, unable to find words, so he chooses to hear instead of responding.

The way you described your journey in Snezhnaya feels lonely to him. Xiao is no stranger to the feeling of solitude, but your gaze feels far, far more lonelier than what Xiao has ever been through. He watched as unfathomable emotions swirl in your eyes, your gaze shifting every so often in trying to find the right words.

A part of him thinks that, perhaps he should’ve sought for you, or even just send a single letter millennia ago instead of pathetically dreaming in the Wangshu inn, then perhaps you wouldn’t have to always feel like you're all alone without anyone to rely on.

Xiao holds your other hand tightly. He doesn’t know how to show affection, but he hopes that this reassures you that you’re no longer alone.

Your lone narrative went on for minutes, then hours, until you lost track of time. You then mutter the last few sentences.

“I lost my powers, I don’t feel qualified to be an adeptus anymore, I-“ this part is harder to say than anything else. “I don’t know why I’m here, or anywhere anymore.”

“I feel like I…lost my purpose.” First was your abandonment from Zhongli, the bane of your misfortune. Then was the Tsarista, the one who broke you more than anything else. You feel lost in life, wandering without a purpose.

“I’m just a… nobody.”

Slam. The sudden impact on the table made you jump. You look up at Xiao who suddenly stood up and slammed his fists on the table with brute force.

His frown is deep, eyes burning with fury and looking at you with disbelief. He is livid.

“Don’t you dare say that one more time.”

Confused, you furrowed your eyebrows and tilt your head a bit. At first you thought he’s mad at the fact that you willingly let your powers be taken away from you, but that doesn’t seem to what he’s mad at.

“You are not worthless, not a nobody. I won’t forgive you even if you say that one more time, even if you said it yourself.”

Xiao clenches his fist tightly, glaring at you. He rarely gets mad at you, it makes you feel a bit guilty.

“Xiao’s right.” Ganyu joins in, her palms squeezing your arms with force making you turn to her. “Please do not say that, ever again. You mean everything to us, how could you- how could you say you’re worth nothing?”

Ganyu has a sorrowful look instead. You don’t know how to respond to them, you can’t figure out whether the present incompetent you means everything to them, or the you they once knew and adored.

You think of the latter one. After all, there’s nothing much on you that is actually worth something.

Zhongli seems to know what you’re thinking, as he slowly opens his mouth. “My child.”

“Nothing changes the fact that you’re an adeptus, one of us, with or without your adeptal powers.”

“No matter the past, present or future you, will always be the one we love.” His gaze firm and solemn, trying hard to convey his feelings to you.

“You don’t have to be perfect, it’s okay to be incomplete.” Zhongli stands up and treads towards you.

He stops next to you, bending down a bit before enveloping you into a tight hug. You stiffen up.

“Because no matter what, you are you, and nothing will ever change that. And the fact that we love you will always be true.”

Hic. You let out ugly voices from your throat, breaking into a ugly sob and staggered breathing.

The warmth warping you increases, with Ganyu and Xiao joining.

Zhongli soothes you by brushing your back softly, Ganyu patting your head and lightly ruffles your hair. Xiao appears to be quite awkward at first, but decides to rest your head on his chest and warp his arms around your head as you sob.

It’s so warm, so warm that it feels unreal. Words of affirmation and love is such a stranger to you, the words and actions they display makes your chest hurts.

Your heart tugs at you, but you know it’s not because you’re sad, it’s because you feel relieved, happy, and thankful.

You are loved. Even if you don’t realise it.

Love is not determined by how much one spends time with each other, nor will it diminish with time or distance.

Forgive does not mean forgetting. The past cannot be reverted. The resentful decisions Zhongli has made in the past remain embedded in history and cannot be undone.

However, it does not mean that relationships cannot be rebuilt. A step at a time, as long as you’re willing to, as long as you are here and with them, things can start over.

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woniepop · 3 years

Text

encore

➜ sunghoon had never fallen in love with anything the way he did with skating. the wind in his face, the crunch of the ice beneath his feet, it was wonderful. and yet, something about it made your blood boil. you once loved ice skating too, for the same reasons as he, but maybe all you needed was a simple goodbye to understand park sunghoon.

wc: 4.6k

genre: ice skating au, best friends to lovers (ish), angst, fluff, romance, slice of life

content warnings: illness, mentions of medication, mentions of blood, death, mentions of anxiety, mentions of fainting, hospitals, angst, death of a loved one

heavily based off Your Lie in April

tagging: @svnghoonie @unghoon @swanlakesujin @heeblr @sweetseung @ferxanda @katberri @usdolans @kisshoons @scintillasofbeomgyu @leemika @qngelhoonie

a/n: hi everyone! this is my first time i’m writing something like this, so i hop eyou guys enjoy it because i’d be super down to write more in the future.

Friday, October 16, 2020

The busy sounds of couples, families, and friends fill the air as the cold wind hits your face. Holding hands with your mom, you glide through the ice, laughter filling the entire rink. The bleachers, the other skaters, the floor, it all disappears and the only thing that’s left is you and your mom. Your seven year old self had never felt so alive.

And yet, here you were, seventeen, staring off into the ice rink as other kids and their mothers ice skated. Ever since you fell in love with the sport it had been the bane of your existence. Mom died, so you stopped. You swore to never go back again, it gave you anxiety. You tried, you really did, but something about being on the ice reminded you so much of the past you wanted to leave behind. It went downhill from then on.

“Hey, what are you thinking about?” a familiar voice calls out to you. Sunghoon, who had been practicing for his upcoming competition, leans against the side of the rink, talking to you who was sitting on the bleachers.

“Just my mom again,” you reply.

“It’s been a while since she passed away, huh. Should we go get some ice cream to cheer you up then?” He says as he skates towards the exit, walking to you. You stand up, bag in hand, and wait for him to change out of his skates. Sunghoon, who had been your best friend since your five year old skating class, had been with you through everything. He always seemed to know just what to say to cheer you up.

“Hey, y/n. Do you think you’d ever try to skate again?” Sunghoon asks, fully knowing the answer but hoping maybe this time it'll be different.

“Haha, you really want me to get back into skating that badly?”

“Well, it’s been a while since you’ve done it. You don’t have to compete with me again, you know. But why don’t you just try it again for fun?”

You stop in your tracks and think about it. It wouldn’t hurt to try for fun. It was your life at one point. “Fine, tomorrow afternoon. But that’s it.” you say, watching his face light up.

Saturday, October 17, 2020

“Don’t let go, Sunghoon. I SAID DON’T LET GO.” You shout, as he laughs.

“Y/n, just relax. You know this. I’m letting go now.”

“SUNGHOON!” you shout. Your legs bent and you stand in place, too scared to move. You watch as he takes your hand and guides you around the rink. The nostalgia comes rushing back. The wind in your face, the feeling of your feet gliding across the ice like nothing, it had been so long. Before you realize it, you had let go of Sunghoon and gone way ahead of him. Looking back, you find him smiling at you. You remember this feeling, and you loved it.

You’d definitely got your love of skating from your mom. Being the daughter of a professional skater, it had been your dream to be like her. She was and always will be your role model. When you had quit skating you wondered if she’d be disappointed in you for quitting, but thoughts of her always flooded your mind and you could never focus on the task at hand. You knew your mom would never be disappointed in you, but you were disappointed in you.

It had been half an hour of skating and an all too familiar voice calls out to you.

“Y/n!”

“Mom?” you say in response. You look back, no one. Not soon after, your breathing gets heavy, the world starts spinning and the nostalgia of the rink gets washed over by spots of black, your head was pounding. You keep looking. Where was she? Why was this happening? You wanted to hug her. Was she proud of you? Upset that you didn’t skate anymore? Why did she leave you? Before you know it, you could feel Sunghoon holding you on the floor before going unconscious.

Sunday, October 18, 2020

“Y/n, I’m so sorry.” Sunghoon says, clutching your hand while kneeling next to your bed.

“Sunghoon, I’m fine. It’s not your fault.”

“BUT IT IS! I asked you to skate with me and now you’re hurt.”

“I’m not hurt. It’s okay.” you say as you rub the back of his hand with your thumb. You look at the clock. 7pm. It was the next day. “Don’t you have practice? Let’s go.”

“What do you mean let’s go?!? You just woke up??” Sunghoon utters in a panic.

“Yeah, which means I’m energized. I need to make sure you don’t stay there for too long and hurt yourself too.” you say, standing up to shoo Sunghoon out so you can change. “Wait on the couch,”

A few moments later you both were out the door and on the bus to the ice rink.

“I’m not going to stay for long then. I don’t want you to be out for too long.” He decides.

“That’s fine.”

The noise Sunghoon’s skates made as they hit the ice and the chilly air gave you comfort as you watched him run through his routine. Running his fingers through his hair, your eyes follow him wherever he went. He knew you were watching, which was why he was putting on his best performance. The both of you had never felt butterflies for each other like the way you did now. Before you knew it, the two of you were falling hard.

“Y/n, let’s go now.” Sunghoon says as his chest rises up and down, panting from his last run.

“Okay, you did good today.” You compliment him as you walk to the bus. His hand accidentally bumps into yours. You desperately wished that he had gone to hold yours, but he was just your best friend. Nothing more. The ride was filled with a comfortable silence. You stared out the window while Sunghoon stared at you. Feeling his gaze on you, you turn to look at him only for him to turn away and pretend like he was looking the other way. Having spent almost everyday for the past ten years with Sunghoon, you guys never needed to talk constantly, having each other there was just enough to have a great day.

You get off together, but Sunghoon was acting suspiciously jittery. He walks you home, but you see him turn the opposite direction of your house once you’re inside. Weird.

Alone, Sunghoon gets back on the bus. His home was close enough to walk from your house, though. “What was he doing?”, you thought.

Arriving at his destination, Sunghoon sighs as he puts a hand up to his backpack strap.

“Name?” the receptionist asks.

“Park Sunghoon.”

“Sunghoon! I’m sorry to see you back. You’ve grown so well. The doctor is ready for you in room 306. Good luck!”

In and out of hospitals ever since the seventh grade, twelve year old Sunghoon stands in the dark hospital hallway, watching his parents cry in the moonlit lobby. He didn’t have much time left, he thought.

Trudging through the all too familiar hallways, Sunghoon makes a left turn and opens the fourth door to the right. He knew this place like the back of his hand.

“Hey Sunghoon! Welcome back! Just take a seat over there and I’ll start preparing to run some tests and then we’ll talk about starting your physical therapy.” The doctor says in a way too cheerful voice.

“That sound’s good. Thank you.” Sunghoon replies. Hearing the sound of the door clicking shut, Sunghoon sat deep in thought. He wanted to skate with you again, but he was worried about your health. Just one more time. That was what he wanted. The glimmer in your eyes, you huge yet adorable smile. He wanted to see it again.

Next Saturday, October 24, 2020

The day started out hectic but you finally found your seat in the stands. You waited for them to announce Sunghoon. Alas, he came gliding out and the crowd was already cheering. Before he starts his eyes search for you, smile widening when his eyes finally meet with yours. Although he had other passions, like skating, his favorite one would always be you. The music starts and the audience quiets down. You had probably seen this routine over 100 times, but something about the setting, the mood, made it seem like a whole new dance. Every move he made drew you further in. He pushed the audience to the edge of their seats leaving them in awe. It was all for you. Everything about him at that moment was brilliant. Once he ends, the audience roars and Sunghoon, not surprisingly, ends up winning. Of course he won. He was your Sunghoon.

You make a beeline towards the performers’ hall and jump onto Sunghoon’s back, accidentally hitting his face with the flowers you had purchased a few moments before.

“Y/n, I told you to stop buying me these. They’re a waste of money.” Sunghoon giggles, happy to see you. You’d had always brushed them off as a pretty reward for a pretty performer, but there had always been a separate meaning behind the red tulips you give him. They would always end up in your home, in the glass vase next to the couch. A gift from your father to your mother, every Friday. Red tulips, the symbol of true love.

“Alright, I need to go change, wait here.” he says, leaving you behind.

An hour goes by and you were starting to get a bit worried. You knock on his changing room door. Nothing. Did he leave without you? You knock on the door again, and nothing. Opening the door, your eyes widen and you let out a gasp. Sunghoon had fainted due to exhaustion and the blood from his head injury had stained the floor.

You call the ambulance and thankfully they arrive quickly. Refusing to leave Sunghoon��s side, you watch as the nurses wrap bandages around his head. This had been the first time you’d seen Sunghoon like this. Was it happening often? Did he not get enough sleep last night?

“Sunghoon, I’m glad to see you’re awake. You passed out from exhaustion again and we’ve handled your head injury. You’re free to go anytime.” The doctor says.

“Again?” you ask.

“Yeah, but only a long time ago. You don’t need to worry about it.” Sunghoon says. “My parents have been overreacting and making me get routine tests, though.”

As a kid, you hated going to the hospital, and Sunghoon knew that. It was bland, it was boring, but most of all it’s the place you lost your mother. You hated the hospital. You’d come almost every month, week even, watching them run tests on your mom, prescribe her what seemed to be like hundreds of different medications, it was terrible. Losing your parent to cancer was not fun. No more skating, no more family days, no more cheering at competitions. Your family dinners turning to just you and your dad, and then just you. Referring to your parents as my “parent,”. Learning how to live life without the person you cherished most. It seemed like your life revolved around that retched place you called the hospital.

The rain poured and thunder boomed through the quiet hospital. He had sent you home before it rained, not wanting you to get wet and sick from the cold. Sunghoon sat still and thought to himself in his bed. “I see, so I’ve passed out again,” he thinks.

Monday, October 26, 2020

The chair screeches across the floor as Sunghoon drags it to your desk.

“Y/nnnnnnn” he whines, seeing you eat your gummy worms.

“No.”

“But I’m hungryyyy” he cries. You roll your eyes, placing one in his hand. You watch as he holds one side close to his mouth as if he was waiting for something.

“Sunghoon, what are you doing?” you ask.

“Bite the other side” he says, causing your face to go red.

“No”

“yes”

“no”

“why not?” he says with his best attempt at puppy eyes and a pout.

“why?” you ask, hoping he hasn’t noticed your tomato red face yet

“cause I want to. we can lady and tramp it.” he says. “you know you want to.”

“I’m not going to lady and tramp a gummy worm with you. eat it or i’m taking it back.” you argue.

“Fine, but I have a proposal.” he announces. “I want to enter the next competition with you. Just one. Give me one more duet before you quit for good.”

“no,” you reply. “I’m never skating again.”

“Why not? You love it”

“Why do you want me to skate so badly?” you ask. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell you the real reason. He couldn’t tell you he was dying, that was a huge no.

“I miss being able to skate with my best friend. I feel so lonely.” he says, puppy eyes resurfacing.

“I’ll think about it then.”

“Good. Meet me at the ice rink on Saturday at 10am” he exclaims before getting up to go back to his desk.

“I haven’t even agreed.”

“Oops I can’t hear you!” he says as you roll your eyes.

Saturday, October 31, 2020

Little you steps off the ice as tears threatened to pour out of your eyes. Running out of the rink into the changing room, you latch on to your mother.

“Mommy, I’m not gonna win,” you say. Her hand comes up to run her fingers through your hair. She coos at you until your breathing has relaxed.

“Why don’t you think you’d win, honey? I loved watching you out there. You were so beautiful.” she says.

“I fell on the ice! Winners don’t do that. I wanted to win just like you.” you manage to sniffle out. You feel your mother give you a kiss on the forehead before kneeling and holding both of your hands.

“Ah, you see, my love, they do! Mommy fell all the time! She still falls! I promise you no winner has never fallen. Mommy only wins because she knows what it’s like to fall! Even if you don’t win, mommy is very proud of you, okay?” she says.

You bolt up from your sleep. It was just a dream. Scrunching your face, holding back the tears that threatened to spill out, you force yourself to get ready for the day, not giving any time to be sad and reminisce.

You enter the complex, Sunghoon standing at the entrance of the rink, impatiently waiting for you. He was so excited. This was going to work out for him. You both walk to the bleachers to satrt lacing your skates, Sunghoon practically bouncing off the walls.

“Aw man, I forgot my hair tie” you complain. Sunghoon pauses lacing his boots and holds his arm out to you.

“Here” Sunghoon says as you look at the extra hair tie on his wrist.

“Why do you have these.” you ask.

“You always forget.” he says, unsurprised.

“Awwww you were thinking of me?” you teased.

“Of course, idiot. Did you forget? I’m never not thinking of you” Sunghoon argued, wallking away, leaving you dumbfounded and blushing like a tomato.

Once again you step into the rink. You were stronger this time. Taking a deep breath you start to glide across the ice once again. It was very unsettling, though. Being on the ice, having fainted the last time you were here. Both you and Sunghoon were on edge, but you were determined to help him win this competition.

The day was filled with talking with your instructor, cleaning up your spins and jumps, and getting back to where you were before. You were getting it and you showed no signs of panic. Sunghoon was so proud of you. YOU were proud of you.

Sunghoon was happy, and he was hopeful. On his walk home all his thoughts were filled with you. Loving you ever since the seventh grade, when he found out he had an illness. He had decided never to tell you, fearing his time would come and leave you alone, but it was too late now. He didn’t want to push you away, you were his ride or die. His heart ached, he didn’t want to say goodbye. He didn’t want you to have to live alone.

Opening the door to his home, he walks through the hallway, leaning against the wall limping to his room. Every big event Sunghoon would write you a letter, and so tonight he poured his heart out onto this piece of paper, tears staining his face.

Sunday, November 1, 2020

On Sunday, you show up to his house unexpectedly but not surprisingly. “Sunghoon, get dressed. We’re going to the market.” you say. Without question, he does as you ask and you both head to the market in no time.

Walking down the ice cream aisle, you grab all the flavors you enjoy, filling your whole basket with different ice creams, toppings, fruit, drinks, and even a cake. “You’re quite hungry, aren’t you?” Sunghoon teases, earning him a slap to the arm.

As soon as you get home, you send Sunghoon alone to his bedroom, telling him you need time to prepare everything. You had pulled all the stops, whipping out the cheap snoopy shaved ice maker, birthday party hats, streamers, balloons, and banners. It was no one’s birthday in particular, but the fake birthday party put you in a festive and refreshing mood. You had set up a giant ice cream sundae bar, and had even made lemonade.

Calling Sunghoon to come out of the bedroom, he was not surprised but very impressed. Wanting to make it even more fun, he suggests to make sundaes for one another, which you happily agree to. The day was so fun, and it was hardly possible, but Sunghoon had fallen in love with you even more.

Sunghoon was so happy that you planned something like this. He was never one to do anything cute for you unless you begged, so this time he wanted to show you how grateful he was to you by giving you one FREE boop on the nose. Scooping some ice cream with his fingertip, he lightly taps your nose, leaving the melted strawberry ice cream to drip off your nose. You turn to look at him in disgust, eventually dipping your finger in the ice cream and starting a war.

Monday, November 2, 2020

From: Sunghoon (sent at 7:30am)

[ GOOD MORNIN PARTY PEOPLE!!! ]

From: you

[ where are you ]

From: Sunghoon

[ Oh yeah I forgot to tell you I’m not coming today. ]

From: you

[ what, why? I don’t wanna eat lunch alone like a loser. ]

From: Sunghoon

[ oh yeah. i’m back at the hospital LMAOOOO ]

From: you

[ WHY ]

From: Sunghoon

[ idk i forgot. i just woke up here and they were like “hihi” and i said “hihi” back ]

From: you

[ you are unbelievable. i’m coming after school. ]

From: Sunghoon

[ NO DON’T ]

From: you

[ why ]

From: Sunghoon

[ i don’t wanna get yelled at again. only come if you bring me more gummy worms ]

From: you

[ fine. since you’re sick ]

You acted like you didn’t care, but you were so worried. What could’ve happened? Why couldn’t he remember? Even when bed ridden, he still managed to get you to fall head over heels.

That afternoon, you arrive at the hospital, finding Sunghoon playing video games while lying in bed. You chuckled. Even with head bandages and an IV drip, he still managed to be his teenage boyish self.

“Y/n! Today was so boring. Can we take a walk in the garden, I’m sick of being here.” he asks, to which you reluctantly agreed.

During your stroll you talked about anything and everything, a common activity you both did.

“How was school today? Did you miss me?” Sunghoon asks cheekily.

“I did actually. I didn’t realize how much time I spend with you until today.” you respond. “But, it was okay. I got your gummy worms and some other snacks too. I know you hate hospital food.”

“Well I missed you too, there was no one but the staff to bother.” He chuckles. “You know, I’m not always going to be around to help you.”

“I know, but we have time.”

Before you knew it, the sun was setting and Sunghoon sent you home so you didn’t have to walk alone in the dark. On his walk back to his room, Sunghoon worried. The thing was, you didn’t have time. The fact that you missed him in just a few hours? How would you feel about forever? He never wanted you to have bad days, let alone be the one to cause them.

Walking through the hallways he trips and falls. Landing on his knees. He tried to get up, but he couldn’t. Why wouldn’t his legs move? He punched his leg. Nothing. Again. It was no use. He had lost feeling in his legs. Tears start pouring out of his eyes. Move, it’s just your leg. Get up. Move. Water droplets fall from his face as he bangs his fist on the floor. Why can’t he move. Eventually he gives up, dragging himself back to his room with his arms. They hurt. His heart hurt. Everything hurt. Was this it?

Tuesday, November 3, 2020

After last night’s events, Sunghoon felt out of it. He wouldn’t be able to go back to school for a while, the nurses claiming that if it happens again the situation can be way worse. He couldn’t skate anymore. He couldn’t see YOU skate anymore. This was it. His illness was getting to him.

With a knock on the door, Sunghoon falls right out of his daze and watches as you come in with another bag of goodies.

“I brought you some stuff from the convenience store.” You say, taking out a bottle of green tea and handing it to him. He reaches out to grab it but as soon as you let go the bottle slips out of his hands.

Ah, so it’s spreading to my arms too, he thinks as he realizes he was too weak to grip the bottle. The doctors told his parents last night that surgery was an option, but it would only give him a little more time, but he wanted to take it. He wanted to be able to skate a little longer. He wanted to make it to the competition.

“I’m in the mood to watch all the Studio Ghibli movies in one sitting.” Sunghoon says as he leans his head back.

“Scoot over,” you reply, getting up to sit in his bed with him. “Good thing I brought my laptop.”

“Are you sure? That’s gonna be like all night.” He asks.

“Of course, I’m always in the mood for you,” you say as Sunghoon wraps an arm around you, prepared for the whole night of cuddling and movie watching.

Half way through the marathon you feel Sunghoon nuzzle his face into your neck. His soft snoring tickled you. You bring your hand up to stroke his hair. Park Sunghoon, I am so in love with you, you think. Your smile. Your eyes. Your lips. Your hair. Your voice. You teasing. The way you say my name. The way you stare at me. The way you talk. The way you smile at me. The way my day isn’t complete without you. I love you.

Wednesday, November 4, 2020

The next day was supposed to be better. Sunghoon was going to see you and you were gonna get him more gummy worms. Sitting up with him on his bed, you were cuddling, and he seemed to be getting paler and paler by the minute. He seemed really tired, like he was sick to his stomach.

You got up to go get him a drink from the vending machine, and as you came back nurses and doctors were rushing in and out of your best friend’s room. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of it’s chest and you run to his room. Sunghoon was clutching onto the sides of the bed, doctors scrambling to get the defibrillator going. His heart had stopped.

You’d later learn that he had gone into cardiac arrest, and you watched as the nurses wheeled his bed to the ICU. But the surgery didn’t work, and he didn’t survive. You felt numb. Stretching out a trembling arm, you took hold of Sunghoon’s hand. You shut your eyes and squeezed his palm. It was cold. Your hand trembled harder with each passing second, as if the movement would cause Sunghoon to wake up. Your face buried into the crook of his neck. You nudged the bridge of your nose against the cool skin. Your lips brushed against his collarbone in desperate search of that familiar warmth. Both hands had clasped around Sunghoon’s, quavering without pause. Devastation weighed down on you. It was a surreal feeling, one that you could never in one million years describe. It squeezed you, threatening to crush you from the inside out. The pain seared itself into your soul, hindering him, rendering him speechless to a point where he no longer knew what words were. A sob wretched its way out from your throat. You tried desperately to hold it in. Tried so hard to keep yourself together, but you knew you were too weak to pull such a bluff. Once the second sob had left you, you felt yourself spiraling. There was no hiding it.

The doctor comes to hand you a letter. Weakly reaching out, you read it right away. You were desperate. You needed to hear something from Sunghoon, anything.

Dear Y/n,

HI BESTIE, I know I write you one of these every big event, but I’m afraid this might be my last. I’m sorry if you’re getting the before the competition. I desperately wanted to skate with you, but I guess if you’re reading this then my time has come. I hope you’re doing okay. I don’t want you to miss me too much. Please keep skating. I love watching you skate, more than anything. You look so happy, so carefree. I want you to live like that always. It’s a lot to ask, I know, but I don’t want you to associate something you love so much with sadness. I’m with your mom now, and we’re rooting for you. Always.

I know it was pretty obvious, but I love you. Actually, that’s an understatement. I’m so in love with you that my heart hurts when I’m not with you. I’m in love with you. And I love that I’m in love with you. I love the feelings. The happiness when I think of you, the butterflies when you text me, the excitement I get when I know I’ll get to see you. It’s amazing. And you’re amazing, and I love you. And I’m sorry I had to keep so many secrets. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the competition. I’m sorry for not telling you about my illness. I didn’t want you to carry this burden with me. You’re the light of my life, Y/n. I love you.

Love,

your bestie, sunghoon.

300 notes · View notes

nghtwngs · 4 years

Text

dear reader,

we are pleased to inform you that you have been chosen to view the mirror of erised, famous in the wizarding world for its ability to display to the beholder whatever their heart truly desires. please find enclosed a list of works that will show you what you see in the mirror.

yours sincerely,

rin “rintsuru”

ravenclaw head girl

march 14th - 20th ; tracked by: #hqmirroroferised

of love potions (and other drugs) ; @akashies

fluff, comedy ; idiots to lovers

“everything you knew about kuroo tetsurou, you had learned against your will (or: you get paired on a potions project with kuroo and relearn everything you thought you knew about him.)”

to be seen ; @doinmybesthere

fluff ; multiple endings

“reader has spent 6 years as kuroo tetsurou's little sister, so when romance calls will she wipe the slate clean, or choose someone who's always been standing on the (metaphorical) sidelines?”

scentless amortentia ; @inumakiful

fluff ; bittersweet, slowburn

“during a potions class, y/n finds out she couldn’t smell the cauldron of amortentia in front of her. the mystery is later revealed when she meets famous slytherin, suna rintarou.”

no one but you ; @itskoushi

angst, fluff, comedy ; pining, slowburn, exes to lovers

"you have history with miya atsumu; he was your first love and he told you that you were his too, so why weren’t you together anymore? after reminiscing about the love that you once had with atsumu, you find yourself sneaking out of your dorms to your old spot. much to your surprise, the same person you were still deeply in love with there too - maybe it was fate but you thought otherwise."

because i'd give you all the years of my life ; @forgetou

light angst ; childhood friends to lovers, growing up

“sakusa and you, through the years. a series of episodes which highlight the growing friendship and burgeoning romance between you, a muggleborn thrown into the belly of the beast, and sakusa kiyoomi, who is about as patrician as patrician gets.”

love to hate me ; @rintsuru

fluff, comedy ; rivals to lovers, slow burn

“whether it’s in class or on the quidditch field, oikawa tooru is your competitor, and an awfully annoying one at that.”

induced infatuation ; @serowotonin

fluff, comedy ; love potion au, love triangle

“you don’t know who you are to tsukishima. friends? something more? he’s not too sure either. but when an accidental ingestion of a powerful love potion comes into the picture, you both have no choice but to find out how you really feel about each other.”

new beginnings ; @tobioba

angst, fluff ; enemies to lovers

“kageyama tobio. he's pretty much the bane of your existence. the worst part about the whole situation though, is the fact that all your friends act like they know something about him that you don't...”

rivalry ; @tooruluv

angst, fluff ; pining, slow burn, enemies to lovers

“your feud with hajime iwaizumi only escalated throughout your years at hogwarts; whether it was on the quidditch field or who would be the first to sit down in class, there always seemed to be some sort of raging competition between you two.”

alphabet boy ; @colossalnova

fluff, angst ; childhood friends to enemies to lovers

“daichi sawamura is the one boy you’d rather get rid of; unfortunately, the universe seems to constantly want you two together.

#hqmirroroferised #oikawa x reader #kuroo x reader #suna x reader #iwaizumi x reader #atsumu x reader #kageyama x reader #tsukishima x reader #sakusa x reader #daichi x reader #lev x reader #haikyuu x reader

356 notes · View notes

chefdoeuvre · 4 years

Text

Rivalry

Kelly Severide

Pairing: Kelly Severide x Sister!Reader

Description: Being a badass just runs in the Severide genes.

Words: 2,479

Requested: yes by @ticklepete; Could you possibly do a Kelly Severide x Sister with #29 & #30. In my head she's a skilled firefighter on squad 3 (first fem to be on squad) and her and Kelly have a very close relationship but they also fight like your typical brother and sister. I also see Herrmann and a sorta father figure to her since Benny was MIA but you don't have to incorporate that. Make it your own! All I ask is that you make her a total badass please 😁😁

Warnings: complete 'badassery' and language.

A/N: I just love powerful women. I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors.

—

Kelly Severide, he was the bane of your existence, but he was your brother and you loved him nonetheless. However, when it came to being competitive the number of challenges you'd give each other could go on for days. The last time it happened Herrmann had to put a stop before either of you could trash his bar. Everyone knew the day he challenged you to make Squad would be the day he would have to end up eating his words. So that's exactly what you did, you worked your ass off and became the only woman to ever make Squad. To say Kelly was proud of you would be an understatement. But then again that was just a backstop for him to push you to be your best because he knew you were an amazing firefighter from the day you started at 51. Among the Chicago Fire Department, they all knew the Severide siblings were one of the best firefighters their city ever had.

Here you were, sitting boredly at the Squad table with your feet kicked up while spinning from side to side in Kelly's, unsaid but still claimed, chair. The other guys were playing poker with their snacks while you flipped through a book, not really reading it. Kelly was off talking to Casey about who knows what when he came bounding into the apparatus floor with a wide smirk.

You looked up at your brother with a flat look, "what is it now?" You asked nonchalantly.

"I have a new challenge to propose." Kelly said with a shit-eating grin.

You kicked your feet off the table and sat up, suddenly intrigued by the topic.

"Alright, spill." You spoke up.

As Kelly went on with his proposal Squad had seemed to stop what they were doing and turned their attention to the both of you. The two of you were so engrossed in discussing the challenge you didn't notice Squad calling out to everyone in the firehouse to gather around to witness yet another 'Severide Sibling Face Off' as they liked to call it. Herrmann stood with his arms crossed, if the two of you came anywhere near his bar during this competition he wouldn't hesitate to rip the both of you a new one. Sure he loved you two like his own, but there is one thing you don't do, and that it mess with a man's precious bar.

By the end of your conversation, the entirety of the firehouse was gathered around the apparatus floor awaiting your decision.

Without a moment to spare you spoke up with a wide smile, "challenge accepted."

Kelly laughed, "be prepared to lose this time."

"Oh please, I can beat you any day." You mused with a smirk.

"It's on, Y/N. It's on." Kelly concluded.

Once the two of you shook hands and turned around you stopped in your tracks with a shocked face. Everyone was staring back at you two, some with wide smiles at the sibling rivalry others in irritation, mainly just Herrmann.

In all actuality, Kelly had challenged you to something you guys always did when running drills. The person who could climb to the top of the firehouse the quickest would win. Knowing this the two of you spent all week training enlisting the help of your friends.

"You're lucky you're my favorite." Herrmann grumbled from the top of the firehouse as he timed you for the fifth time that day. What could you say? You had a lot of free time this shift.

"Glad to hear that, Hermie." You grunted pulling yourself over the ledge and hopping onto the top of the roof.

"Another record. I swear every time you do it again you have more energy than the last attempt." Herrmann shook his head in disbelief, leaning back in the lawn chair he set up.

"Maybe it has something to do with the feeling of beating Kelly." You shrugged taking a gulp of water.

In the midst of you and Herrmann both making your way down from the roof the announcement system went off signaling a call. The two of you quickly bolted to the apparatus floor and hopped into your respective trucks. Once you pulled up to the scene Kelly, Boden, and Casey scanned the area. It seemed like it was a routine house fire. A redhead who was covered in soot came running up to you and Stella, the only women in 51 who, by chance, were standing beside each other.

"Help please, my daughter!" The woman frantically pleaded.

You turned to look at Boden who gave you a nod of his head. Pulling on your gear you and Stella took the second floor to scan while the rest of Truck and Squad split up and did the same with the basement and the first floor.

Stella took one side of the hall as you took the other searching for the young girl. Stella called out to you and said she had found nothing. You reassured her to just head out and said you were on your way to the last room and you'd meet her back outside. Just as you stepped into the last room, which looked like an eight-year-olds dream bedroom, you heard a cry. You kneeled down to be met with a strawberry blonde whimpering under the bed.

"Hey, sweetie. I'm Y/N, I'm a firefighter and here to help." You introduced to the frightened girl softly.

Seeing the smoke beginning to seep into the room you quickly turned your head to the girl once again.

"Can you come out so we can go see your mom outside?" You asked the girl gently as you reached toward her.

She quickly grabbed ahold of your hand as you pulled her out from under the bed and pulled her small frame into your arms.

"Y/N report!" Boden's urgent voice came from your walkie.

"I've got the girl and we're heading out now." You replied quickly as you stood up.

You hiked the girl up your hip as you covered her body with your turnout coat and instructed for her to keep her head tucked into your chest. You stepped out of the room running down the hall and down the stairs. Just before you neared the entrance it burst into flames as you backed up shielding the girl with your body. Out of the corner of your eye you caught sight of a side door and without a second thought, you bolted toward it. Pushing the door open you were greeted by the green grass, a driveway crowded with cars, and the side of the neighboring house. You peeled off your SCBA mask and took a much needed breath of fresh air.

In front of the house stood every firefighter in 51 staring at the house with open mouths. Kelly's mouth had dried when he scanned over the firefighters of Squad only to see that you weren't there. His heart stopped for a moment when he looked to Boden with wide eyes.

"Y/N? Y/N!" Kelly shouted into his walkie while simultaneously hoping on his life that you miraculously got out before the entrance went up in flames.

You however were too busy trying to find your way around all the parked cars. You didn't know how they managed to fit the two cars in a driveway only meant for one car, but you did your best to squeeze your way through. While the rest of 51 was frantically waiting on your arrival and for the fire to be put out you grunted your way past the first car. You looked down at the girl who was gripping onto you tightly.

"You alright there, kiddo?" You asked rubbing your hand down the small girl's back. You received a nod and a hum in response as you set out between the second car. During this entire feat, you hadn't realized that your walkie was switched off when you curled into yourself to protect the girl from the blaze.

Exhaling a deep breath when you squeezed out from in between the house and the second car you made your way down the length of the driveway. The first people to see you were Sylvie and Gabby as they ran to you with a gurney. You set the girl down on the gurney as she thanked you when a bigger body came barreling into you. It took you a second to gain your composure, but you soon saw the tuft of salt and pepper hair beside your face. You were quick to reciprocate the hug and squeezed your brother tightly. Digging your head into his chest you heard everyone from 51 cheering at your safety. Kelly reluctantly pulled away and cupped your face as if to make sure you were real.

"Damn it, Y/N." Kelly sighed as he pulled you into his arms again.

"You really thought that would've taken me out?" You questioned with a muffled voice into his chest.

"Not funny." Kelly ruffled your helmet hair.

Pulling away you saw Herrmann making his way toward you as you run into his open arms.

"Glad you're alright, kid." Herrmann laughed at you squeezing his torso tightly.

You pulled away before adorning a wide grin staring back at your firefighting family, "and the legend of Y/N Severide lives on." You let out a giggle. You were a badass and there was no denying that.

Heading back to your trucks with wide smiles you turned your head to look at your brother and lieutenant, "you ready to get your ass kicked tomorrow?" You asked in a teasing tone.

"In your dreams, baby sister." Kelly scoffed.

"You won't be saying that when you're crying at your loss." You stuck your tongue out at Kelly childishly.

"We'll see about that." Kelly shook his head as the truck pulled away from the scene and headed back to the firehouse.

The rest of the shift droned on for a few more hours with less exciting calls until it was time for everyone to head home and the next shift to take over. Walking down the driveway Kelly came up behind you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. Ironically enough after spending day in and day out together at work you'd see each other at home too. You two were roommates but surprisingly enough you hadn't gotten sick of each other yet.

The next shift came as quickly as the last one had gone and the topic of conversation for everyone was about the challenge that was to take place at the end of the day. Somehow people had already picked sides and were caught up arguing every time they didn't have a call to attend to. It was a pretty even split between the people on your side and Kelly's. Of course, all the girls were in favor of you as well as Herrmann and Mouch. The rest of Squad was with Kelly, mainly because he was their lieutenant and they would never admit it but they were afraid of what he would make them do it they chose you over him. Casey and Boden decided to be the mediators because they didn't want to get involved in the sibling wars. Over the course of the shift every time you and Kelly passed by each other you gave matching glares, something about sibling rivalry always brings out the scariness of people.

Just as the clock hit the next hour, meaning your shift was finally over, Herrmann jumped up from his seat, "alright everyone, the 'Severide Sibling Face Off' has begun." Herrmann announced as he pulled out the timer he had stuffed in his pocket.

Your head snapped up at Herrmann's loud voice, exchanging a look with the person beside you, which was Stella. She ushered you out of your seat and led you to gather your rappelling gear. After getting everything situated you had met with Kelly at the bottom of the firehouse. Casey and Boden stood on top of the roof, Herrmann in between them with his timer in hand. Everyone else was gathered behind the two of you already placing bets on who was going to win.

"On the count of three! One, two, three!" Herrmann counted off as you and Kelly set to climbing.

As the two of you made your way up cheers were heard from your fellow firefighters.

"Getting tired?" You asked Kelly in a teasing tone pushing yourself to stay ahead of him.

"As if." Kelly scoffed doing his best to catch up.

A few minutes had gone by and the cheers had only gotten louder. You were a few feet from the top, your muscles burning already. With a final grunt, you pulled yourself over the ledge and toppled onto the roof. Heaving out a sigh you looked up to see Herrmann beaming at you.

"My fellow smoke eaters we have a new record!" Herrmann cheered.

A few moments later Kelly lugged himself over the ledge only to plop himself over you.

"Ew, you're sweaty." You scrunched your nose too tired to push him off.

"Just a congratulatory hug." Kelly teased as he squeezed you tighter.

Once he pulled away you stood up as Herrmann continued to clap loudly.

"The new record time is 5:47!" Herrmann announced.

From below loud cheers erupted, Herrmann walked up and patted you on the back, "nice job, kid."

You smiled widely before turning to face your sweaty and out of breath brother, "take that!" You jumped up and down.

Kelly simply rolled his eyes in response, there was one thing that was rarely mentioned. The majority of the time you’d beat him anyway, but he was fine with it if you kept making him proud. However, he wouldn’t tell a living soul that. You stood there celebrating with a wide grin on your face. After heading back down to the apparatus floor a chorus of cheers surrounded you. Once everyone dissipated and started talking to each other about the bets they had made you turned to Kelly with a smirk.

“You’re losing your touch old man.” You teased playfully.

“I’m not even that much older than you.” Kelly scoffed.

You took a step toward the taller man and pulled him into a hug, “you know I love you even though you annoying the living hell out of me, right?” You asked leaning your chin on his chest to look up at him.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Kelly ruffled your hair.

“How many times do I have to tell you? Watch the hair!” You pushed Kelly’s hand away with a scowl.

“Like I said, I wouldn’t change it for a thing.” Kelly shrugged as he brought his hand up to your hair again.

“Bro! Watch it!” You shoved his hand away laughing.

#request #fanfiction #imagine #one shot #one chicago #chicago fire #chicago fire fanfiction #chicago fire imagine #one chicago fanfiction #one chicago imagine #kelly severide imagine #kelly severide x reader #kelly severide x you #kelly severide imagines #kelly severide fanfiction

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preciouspeterbparker · 4 years

Text

i wish i were

inspired by conan gray’s “heather”

warnings: stepsibling incest (not yet but that’s the whole premise), underage masturbation, underage sex, angst. peter’s like 16 and a half, Tony’s almost 18

word count: 2.2k

summary: peter’s in love with his big brother. no biggie. (spoiler alert: it’s a big deal)

(A/N: okay this has been living in my head rent free for over a month. i've written more, but it's not fully fleshed out yet.

i figured i would post this and see if anyone is interested in reading it before i put a bunch more effort in lmao. this is filth. most of the angst comes later lololol (and more filth).

i hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think / if you'd like to read more!

- bloo)

PART ONE

Peter stands at his locker, desperately trying to blend in and remain unseen as he switches out his English textbook for Physics. The school year is basically over, given that it’s the last week of May but he’s still not comfortable in the junior-senior hallway. He’s always been the youngest (and therefore smallest) kid in most of his classes, given that he’s been in the ‘gifted & talented’ track since middle school. (He’s on track to graduate next year, taking his last few mandatory classes and completing an internship for additional credit.) This year, Peter feels even smaller than usual; maybe because most of the seniors are already eighteen, while as a sophomore, he isn’t even seventeen. He doesn’t have many friends this year, because of it. Ned moved away last summer because his dad got a new job, and, well, he’d never really needed more than Ned before.

“Hey Pete-squeak,” comes a voice from behind, making him jump. Rolling his eyes, Peter pivots slightly to face the newcomer. The infestation of butterflies that he's been harboring for the past few months begins to flutter immediately, tickling the walls of his stomach as his cheeks flush lightly.

The voice belongs to a tall (or, well, taller than Peter, anyway), ridiculously handsome boy with dark hair and dark eyes, walking towards Peter with his hands in his pockets. The cheeky smirk on his face is all but permanent, but the small, genuine smile it slips into is something that Peter holds close to his chest, something that is typically reserved for him.

Tony, his older brother, is pretty much Peter's favorite person in the world. Technically, he’s Peter’s step brother. Maria, his mom, and Peter’s dad Richard got married when Peter was a year old and Tony was almost three. They’d essentially spent their whole lives together; neither of them could really remember anything before. They’ve always been close, but that’s changed a little bit this year.

“Hey Tony,” Peter chirps, reaching back into his locker to grab his physics binder. He tries to act natural, even though he feels anything but. His heart’s going a mile a minute inside his rib cage. He feels a little ridiculous, he has for the past few months. Swallowing, he manages to sound relatively calm. “You read the last 2 chapters of Beowulf, right? Mrs. Herrera gave us a pop quiz last period.”

The older teen groans. Closing his eyes, he throws his head back, a metallic thunk sounding as it collides with the locker he’s leaning back on. “Fucking hell. The final paper is due in like four fucking days! Is that not enough?” It’s quiet for a moment as Tony pauses before he opens one eye, cutting it to look at Peter. “What were the answers?”

Peter snorts in response, shutting his locker. “Not happening, T.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time and lets the left side of his body rest against the cool metal. Three minutes til the bell rings, and Mr. Riley’s class is right across the hall. So he’s essentially got three minutes to indulge himself and the fuzzy warmth that’s running through his veins. He loves any time he gets to spend with Tony. “You’re lucky I told you at all, be grateful.”

Tony wrinkles his nose at him. “Rude,” he scoffs in mock offense. “I know you can remember them,” comes his teasing accusation. (And he’s right. Peter can recall the entirety of the quiz, but he’s still not going to enable Tony.) Then he pauses and raises an eyebrow at his younger brother. “Is that my sweatshirt?” The garment in question is a worn and slightly faded black Led Zeppelin USA 1977 crewneck sweatshirt. Peter’s wearing it over a charcoal and white check button-up. The sweatshirt is one of Tony’s favorite pieces of clothing, he wears it all the time (hence why Peter...borrowed it...without asking).

Having mentally prepared himself to be questioned at some point, Peter’s reply is already on the tip of his tongue. “Yeah, it ended up in my laundry and once I put it on it was too cozy to take off. And it looks good with these jeans and the button-up. And my boots. Trying out a new look,” he finishes, smiling as he pushes his glasses further up his nose. Tony often teased him about the thick, clear-but-slightly-pink frames, but Peter hadn’t wanted glasses at all (he doesn’t need any more reasons to be teased, thank you), but he likes these. They make him look cute, more feminine. More like someone Tony could want.

“You’re right,” Tony smiles. One of his hands comes up to playfully ruffle at Peter’s russet hair. “Looks great on you, kid.” There’s warm affection in his voice.

Peter feels his cheeks go hot again, and he wills the flush to go away. He can’t take compliments from Tony, now- they make him ache and preen simultaneously. He knows that Tony doesn’t mean it the way he wants. Peter knows that Tony would never speak to him again if he knew what was really going on inside his little brother’s head. The thought makes him sick to his stomach.

Speaking of stomachs. “Hey,” he starts as he fingers through the papers in his physics binder, attempting to find the problem set that’s due today. “Did you ever catch up on Hell’s Kitchen? I’ve been rewatching episodes trying to wait for you, but you’re taking too long. You saw the episode where Gordon-” Peter’s heart falls to his stomach and he abruptly stops speaking when he looks up to notice that Tony isn’t looking at him anymore, barely seems to be listening.

It falls completely out of his ass when he sees just what, just who, has stolen his attention.

“Sorry, Pete, gotta go,” Tony mutters once he realizes that Peter’s stopped talking, shooting him a hasty smile and shoving off the navy metal. He skirts past Peter, a slight skip in his step as he makes his way down the hallway.

Peter's swallows and clenches his jaw as he watches his brother walk straight to her, the bane of his existence. The reason he and Tony don’t spend as much time together anymore. The object of Tony’s affections. Pepper. She's...everything Peter wishes he could be, honestly. Tall, somehow a perfect mix of skinny & curvy, bright blue eyes, long strawberry-blonde hair. She's perfect. And not only in looks; she's also ridiculously smart. If Tony wasn’t valedictorian, she surely would be. She even volunteers at the local soup kitchen every weekend, and Peter’s pretty sure she reads to dogs at the animal shelter once a month. He hates that Pepper is so nice; he hates that he can't hate her without hating himself for it.

As if he didn't have enough self-loathing already.

***

Peter exits the bathroom that connects his bedroom with Tony’s after gently flicking the lock on his brother’s door to disengage it, the soft ‘snick’ ridiculously loud in the quiet of the house. He’s the only one home; Mom and Dad are at some sort of event for Dad’s law firm, and Tony went to a party at Rhodey’s house. (Tony had insisted that Peter was invited, but he had to know that the younger would never go- why would he want to be surrounded by drunk, horny, belligerent teenagers? The last thing he wanted to see was Tony and- )

There’s a dark gray towel loosely wrapped around his waist, so loose he has to clutch it in his hand to keep it from falling. He closes his own bathroom door behind him and drops the towel, digging through his underwear drawer to pull out a random pair of plaid boxers.

After sliding them on, the brunette takes a deep breath and lays back against the pillows, arms behind his head. He tries to consciously relax his muscles, the tension of the day not having melted away during his shower like he had hoped. Time for Plan B. It’s never let him down before. Peter reaches for his phone and unlocks it before swiping through his apps to open Spotify. The sound of “Dazed and Confused” fills the air through his speakers, and he sets it to repeat on a loop. It’s a little fucked up, the way he’s conditioned himself to respond to this song, but- Peter knows the whole thing is fucked up; he’s fucked up.

Closing his eyes, he does the only thing he’s been capable of for months: he thinks of his older brother.

He’s growing fond of the new facial hair Tony’s trying out; he wonders how it would feel against his skin. Which areas would be the most sensitive to its touch? His thighs? His neck? Peter’s head tilts back and to the side as he imagines wet, warm lips and the scratch of stubble. Just the thought, the phantom sensation, makes a soft mewl leave his mouth. It’s a little ridiculous how easy he can get himself going, when he thinks of Tony’s touch, of his body. Of his love. In his boxers, his cock shifts against his thigh as it begins to fill out.

The sensual, plucky bassline and wailing guitars of the song drag along, and so does Peter’s breathing as he brings a hand up to pinch at one of his nipples. He imagines the way Tony would tease him until he was whining, begging for release. He supposes it wouldn’t be dissimilar to his older brother’s typical manner of playfully taunting him. Maybe Tony would pin him down like he did when they were younger, climb on top of him and hold him there with the muscles he’s gained from boxing in the garage. The opportunities he’s had to see the older teen breathing heavy, shirtless and glistening with sweat, would be forever ingrained in his mind. The mental image sends more blood rushing south and his dick throbs as it quickly reaches full hardness, drawing a gasp from his mouth.

Peter takes himself in hand, studying the details of his cock. He knows he’s not huge, but he’s at least on the larger side of average. It’s flushed a deep, mauve-y pink, and he traces the line of a vein on the side with the tip of his pinkie. A shiver shoots down his spine. He wonders how similar it is to Tony’s. Is he circumcised like Peter is? Is he bigger? Longer, thicker even? Sure, he’s seen him naked before, when they were younger changing or in the bath, but that stopped around the time Tony was seven or eight.

(Tony and Peter had come home from school one day, and Peter’s head had been reeling over what he heard some older girls saying on the bus. He’d decided to ask Tony about it. His big brother knew everything. ...Mom & Dad caught them kissing in their bedroom. That was the end of bathing together, and Tony got his own room, too. Peter never forgot about the way his big brother’s lips felt against his own.)

A bead of precum oozes out of his tip and Peter rubs his thumb over it, smearing the liquid over his cockhead. Robert Plant’s voice moans over the speaker and Peter echoes the sound as he slowly strokes himself with a loose grip, his hole tightening around nothing. Biting his lip, he hesitates before slipping his left pointer finger into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it sloppily. Once it’s wet, he reaches down and gently presses the pad of his finger against the tightly furled muscle between his cheeks. His breath hitches as the sensation; he’s only touched himself down here a couple of times before.

The tip of his finger begins to breach his opening and a whine leaves Peter’s mouth. It stings a bit so he tries to relax, muscles fluttering, making a mental note to grab some lube next time he goes to the drugstore. He wants to be able to stretch himself out more, to imagine Tony’s fingers, Tony’s cock, splitting him open and stuffing him full. Fuck-

Tightening his grip on the base of his cock, Peter grits his teeth and grunts softly as he pulls his finger from his ass. He can’t cum yet- he’s not done. He reaches under his pillow, pulling out the balled-up t-shirt that’s taken up residence there. The black fabric has faded in some spots, and the Black Sabbath logo is cracked and worn; it’s one of Tony’s favorite shirts. Peter brings the soft cloth up to his nose, fumbling with it to find the area with the strongest smell. There are hints of Tony’s Old Spice deodorant mixed with a scent that’s distinctly Tony, a warm, masculine musk that has saliva pooling in Peter’s mouth. Delirious, fucking his hand to the beat, he wishes he had dug a little further in the hamper, pulled out a pair of Tony’s briefs.

That’s the thought that does him in. Peter cums into his fist, gasping his brother’s name, the sound getting muddled in the maelstrom of guitar and drums. Thick ropes of jizz splatter on his stomach and chest, entire abdomen heaving with his breaths.

He wipes the mess up with Tony’s t-shirt before tucking the fabric back under his pillow for safe keeping.

to be continued???

#starker #starkercest #peter parker x tony stark #peter x tony #bloo writes bad things (tm)

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otonymous · 4 years

Text

Kissed By The Baddest CEO (MLQC Victor x KBTBB - NSFW)

Description: Old flames and prospective lovers threaten to derail your budding romance with Victor before it even begins. How will you extricate yourselves from a web of misunderstandings?

Warnings:

NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised. Potential Trigger Warnings: profanity, jealousy, angst, exes, mentions of alcohol, bone fetishes, rough sex, 69 sex position (oral sex), mirror sex, vaginal intercourse, swallowing, size kink

Mild spoilers for Victor’s family history (MLQC); slight bending of MLQC & KBTBB canon universes via creation of original side character

Word Count: ~10K words (please set aside a good chunk of time for some fluff, angst and smut 🤣)

Author’s Notes:

First of all, a GIANT thank you to the super gracious @lin-ful for commissioning this Victor piece from me. You are an absolute joy to work with and I really appreciate the fact that you gave me carte blanche to basically do whatever I wanted 🤣 I really hope you enjoy the read! (P.S. I would never be so sadistic as to ever make you choose between Victor and Eisuke, so please rest easy 😆)

This story is especially significant to me as a writer because it represents the culmination of a number of milestones: the first time I’ve created an original character, my first attempt at writing a crossover story, the first time I’ve written in both first- and second-person perspectives. It is also the longest single piece I’ve ever written. That being said, please note the warnings listed above and happy reading! 😊

Nb. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1: Hello Diana

“Really Vic, I thought you were beyond name calling by now.”

Her voice is sultry and low, smooth in your ears like the whiskey in her tumbler. Completely at ease in a couture Givenchy pantsuit that likely cost more than one of your production budgets, she sat with her legs elegantly crossed in a leather armchair, tipping her glass to vermillion lips. And as the flames danced in the imposing marble fireplace of one of Shanghai’s oldest and most exclusive supper clubs, they reflected off an enormous ruby ring gracing her middle finger.

Victor scoffs, taking a sip of his own whisky and glancing at you as you follow suit with the virgin cocktail he ordered on your behalf while you were in the restroom.

He was so infuriating at times, but at least it wasn’t warmed milk.

“First of all, you weren’t meant to hear that. Secondly, I hardly consider ‘dummy’ name calling. Far worse exists when it comes to options, as I'm sure you can attest to, Diana. You’ve used quite a few in your day.”

Amusement spreads across her fine features as she throws her head back in laughter, the sound enticing even as it disrupts the low chatter in the room. However, none of the men looking her way seemed to mind. She was brimming with so much joie de vivre that even you weren’t immune to her charms, smiling despite the anxiety that sat heavy in your chest from the very moment Victor introduced you to Diana Shum that evening.

You didn’t quite know why you felt ill at ease, especially towards someone who was doing you a favour by brokering a major deal on behalf of your company. Well, more like doing Victor a favour, since he was the one who made the request. Perhaps this was how all men felt in the presence of such a woman: elegantly confident and unapologetically vivacious, drawing attention everywhere she went.

“Are you still dredging up stories from our Oxford days, Victor? Not very gentlemanly of you. How do you put up with him?” Diana turns to wink at you and the spotlight of her attention makes you feel like the only other person in the room. “Let me assure you those boys deserved every insult in the book; one-track minds and transparent to boot. They should consider themselves lucky I even acknowledged their sad existence.”

“Di, you made the Prime Minister’s son cry. You should’ve seen those puffy eyes the next morning at the swim meet against Cambridge."

Victor raises his brows, subtle amusement colouring his expression. And simple though it was, the sight of his handsome face so transformed by the faint smile on his lips made your heart race.

No, there’s no way. It’s probably just the fatigue catching up to you. The flight to Shanghai from Loveland City must’ve been more taxing than you initially thought, even though Victor had graciously offered to let you hitch a ride on his private jet. You place a hand on your chest, trying to calm the frenzied rhythm of your heart. The gesture goes unnoticed by Diana but Victor throws a worried glance in your direction. You smile to ease his concerns. He furrows his brows.

“Oh please, I should’ve ripped him a new one with the way he tried to get frisky on our date. He’s lucky I didn’t call Soryu to deal with him and his wandering hands.”

A sudden change seeps into Victor’s eyes, dark irises softening as if focused on something miles away. “Soryu. How is your cousin doing, by the way?”

Diana leans back, taking another sip of her drink. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough. I take it you are accompanying this lovely producer to Tokyo to meet with Eisuke and wherever the Ichinomiya heir is, Soryu isn’t far behind. In all honesty though, Vic, surely you would know better than I. Weren’t the three of you thick as thieves during prep school?”

You perk up at the topic of Victor’s childhood. It was a rare chance to learn about the formative years of this stone-faced man before he became the slave driver of Loveland Financial Group.

“I was only there for a year and a half with Soryu and Eisuke before…before my mother passed. My father sent for me shortly afterwards. I haven't seen them since.”

Deep voice trailing off, Victor’s gaze shifts to the fireplace where it remains, as if hypnotized by the flicker of orange flames. And as the silence stretches on, you become disconcerted to see him so uncharacteristically lost in his thoughts. You reach out to touch him but Diana beats you to it, laying a delicate hand on top of his much larger one as it rests on the leather armrest.

The gesture is ridiculously small for how much it blindsides you — the sight of her hand on Victor’s dazzling like the light reflecting off her ruby ring.

He blinks at the touch, long lashes fluttering in the split-second it takes for him to compose himself and suddenly, the unflappable CEO is back again.

“I’m sorry, it’s been a long day and we should probably call it a night. But you have my thanks, Diana, for setting up this meeting with the Ichinomiya Group.”

It was Diana’s turn to scoff. “Can we please dispense with the formalities, Victor? Soryu mentioned Eisuke was having difficulty finding the right people to make this documentary on the anniversary of his Tres Spades Tokyo hotel, so it was serendipity that we bumped into each while on business in London. It’s a win-win situation. Meant to be.”

Meant to be.

There is a spark of something in Diana’s eyes when she makes that last statement. It stays with you long after you part ways with Victor for the night, lying awake in your hotel room as you wondered whether the LFG CEO was already asleep in his.

Chapter 2: SOS

“You’re awfully quiet. Should I take this to mean that you already know everything about Eisuke Ichinomiya and his chain of luxury hotels?"

Victor speaks without raising his head, leafing through the documents on his lap and stopping periodically to leave his signature with the same gold pen that marked up your reports. Its barrel glowed warm, reflecting the soft lights of the cabin of his private jet, en route to Tokyo from Shanghai.

Letting out a shaky breath, you try to steel yourself despite the rising heat in your cheeks. Because after a night spent tossing and turning in your hotel room, you arrived at a conclusion so absurd it could only be true:

You were in love with Victor Li.

Against all odds, the bane of your life had become your biggest ally and mentor. All the pieces of the square puzzle that was the LFG CEO had fallen into place to form one coherent and beautiful picture:

His exacting demands transformed into standards of excellence, his workaholism a paragon of commitment and dedication.

And though you were loathe to admit it, each soft utterance of “dummy” leaving his lips made the corners of yours turn up in the goofiest of grins.

Oh god, how did it ever come to this?! Where and when along the rocky path of your working relationship with the slave driver did you fall in love with him? But that wasn’t even the worst of it. If your intuition about the previous night’s events served you well, the beautiful Diana Shum was also enamoured of him.

You turn to Victor, meaning to inform him with utmost confidence that you had already conducted extensive research on the Ichinomiya Group’s charismatic CEO and his chain of casino hotels. You even thought to throw in a snarky reminder that he himself had been marginally impressed with the presentation you gave on the topic back in Loveland City.

“Are you close to Diana Shum?”

Was NOT what had you meant to ask. Especially in a voice that cracked like a 12 year old pubescent boy’s. And if there was a way by which you could’ve drowned in a bottle of water, you would’ve gladly done so. Instead, you settle for gulping it down, trying to keep your stupid mouth from spewing more nonsense in front of the man who was your de facto boss.

“Ahem.” Victor clears his throat, long legs uncrossing as he shifts in his seat. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the muscles of that chiseled jaw settling firm.

“I-I’m so sorry. It’s none of my business. You don’t have to answer-"

“I’ve known her for a while, if that’s what you’re asking. She’s a classmate from university and also a cousin of a friend of mine from prep school, as you’ve probably gathered from yesterday’s conversation. Since graduation, she’s taken over her father’s role as CEO of Shum Property Developments and we’ve partnered periodically on various business ventures…”

He continues and you nod at the appropriate times, half listening as a million thoughts filtered through your head: your surprise at how unusually verbose Victor was being, the relief you felt to see that he was as determined to avoid your gaze as you were his. Because the truth was that the longer he went on about Diana — so beautiful, polished and charming that you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate her even if you tried — the harder it was to keep the clouds from darkening your face. And when Victor says,

“Not like it has any bearing on anything now, but we also dated for a short period of time…”

…It hurts to breathe.

Finally turning in your direction, Victor fixes you with a scrutinizing gaze. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, um, I just…wanted to know a bit more about the person who helped me and my company. So I can better thank her later.”

You speak without meeting his eyes, hoping to placate him with a quick smile as you pretend to rummage through your purse. Thankfully, he drops the topic, returning to his documents. And though the rest of the plane ride is spent in near silence, the thoughts in your head have never been so loud.

Chapter 3: Sexy Bones [Victor]

She wore that dress today. The same one she had on when she impudently stormed my office to insist that I give her company a final chance before pulling funding:

Fitted to conform to every curve, yet formal enough to be professional. Beautifully sensual in her usual understated way. My favourite shade of red.

“It’s my go-to outfit when I need a confidence boost,” she told me once in between bites of pudding at Souvenir. “It makes me feel like a queen, like I can do no wrong. Perfect for business meetings I just have to nail, you know?”

“Dummy,” I had said then, feigning dismissiveness so she wouldn’t pick up on the way my eyes kept drifting towards her lips, so soft and plush I couldn’t help but wonder if her kisses would carry a hint of caramel sweetness.

It was true that the girl could be incredibly dense at times, playing at being queen when she already ruled my heart. Or how oblivious she was to the fact that the British doctor was completely smitten with her during today’s meeting at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel.

Dr. Luke Foster.

Completely absorbed in reading through what looked to be like a stack of medical journals, Dr. Foster had largely ignored us while Eisuke and Soryu made quick work of introducing the eclectic mix of other associates in the room:

Ota Kisaki, the so-called “Angelic Artist” whose work I was well-acquainted with, having previously spent a small fortune on his painting, Koro of My Kokoro.

Baba Mitsunari, a charming man whose handsome features were made all the more striking by the black fedora and red suit he wore. The girl pointed out that he bore an uncanny resemblance to the cashier we saw at a convenience store earlier that day and I had to agree.

They glossed over a man named Mamoru Kishi, apparently sound asleep in one corner of the room with his face covered by a newspaper and a full ashtray by his side.

Finally, they came to Luke Foster, a blond-haired man with the air of an English gentleman. Eisuke explained that Dr. Foster was the hotel’s on-site physician as well as a fellow alumnus of our prep school, apparently having left for reasons no one wanted to articulate the year before I transferred in.

And when the doctor finally looked up at us from his readings, his eyes took on an almost maniacal quality to see the girl standing by my side.

“Those proportions, those angles….perfect…absolutely perfect!” He exclaimed as if in a daze, standing up suddenly and causing the reading materials to spill from his lap in the process.

He looked completely unhinged, almost like a zombie as he reached out a pale hand towards her collarbones of all places. I stepped in front of her on reflex, only to have the doctor fix me with a piercing gaze as if he had just become aware of my existence and found it thoroughly offensive.

“Annnnd there he goes again,” Ota’s tone was one of exasperation, but there was no mistaking the amusement in the smirk that spread wide across his face.

“Ooh, Lu’s got a new victim! Maybe now he can finally stop staring at the Boss’s girl every time she comes in to clean the penthouse!” Baba chimes in, fingers stroking at his chin as if hatching some mischievous plan.

“Will the lot of ya shaddup!? I’m tryin’ to sleep over here…zzz…” The man with the papers over his head gave a muffled shout before promptly rolling over onto his side.

Soryu just sighed, running a hand over his face. And just when I began to worry that the girl was scared out of her wits, having wandered into this strange den of wolves, she surprised me by chuckling under her breath.

Did the dummy find this funny?

“Tch, ignore them, Victor. Let’s just get on with the presentation,” Eisuke said as he took his seat at the head of a long table. The girl straightened up and immediately got to work, transforming into the consummate professional she always was when it came down to business. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as I watched her nail her pitch.

Taking a surreptitious glance around at her rapt audience, I stopped at Luke. The intensity of the doctor's stare made me uneasy, the way those blue-grey eyes hovered above the scooped neckline of her red dress, tracing along her collarbones as if he were caressing them with his gaze alone. I mentally berated myself for not putting my suit jacket over her shoulders before she got up there.

And though it was spoken under his breath, Dr. Foster’s murmur of “sexy bones” rang loud and clear in my ears.

Chapter 4: In A (Traffic) Jam [Victor]

“Victor, you won’t believe my luck! Not only did we cinch the Ichinomiya account, I also found the perfect candidate to appear on our Mystery Finder show!”

The girl was practically breathless on the other end of the line, words jumbling together as they came a mile a minute. And though her enthusiasm is as infectious as it is adorable, I remind myself to play it cool. “Really. And who might that be?”

“Dr. Foster!”

HONK!

I swerve back into my lane on reflex, narrowly avoiding an accident as the driver next to me flips me the bird before speeding away. My heart raced, beating fiercely against the cage of my chest, but it had little to do with my near brush with death.

At this moment, I was more concerned with a man who looked like Death himself.

“Oh my god, Victor, what was that? Are you okay?” The concern in her voice is palpable and it makes me think of how kind and tenderhearted she is, of how easily someone could exploit that to their advantage. “This is a bad time, isn’t it? I’m so sorry, I’ll call you ba-”

“Don’t worry about it, just some idiot not paying attention on the road. And what's this about, ahem, Dr. Foster?" The name itself was unsavoury, sticking in my throat until I spat it out. I hoped the vitriol escaped her notice.

“Okay Victor, get this: it’s like the man has X-ray vision!”

She whispers for dramatic effect, and my grip tightens on the steering wheel as I picture those slate grey eyes sweeping over the curves of her body, a lewd expression falling over the doctor’s features. He was a handsome enough man, that much was true; intelligent and a first-rate surgeon according to Eisuke and Soryu. Goldman confirmed as much when I had him dig up all available information on Luke Foster. On that basis alone, many women would find him to be an extremely attractive suitor and ludicrous though it is, I can’t help but think the worst. Luke had been quite open in his admiration of her, especially her collarbones. What if she returned the sentiment?

In retrospect, it was a horrible idea to leave her to her work (and that wolf) in Tokyo while I returned to mine in Loveland City. While she had the company of her coworkers, clearly none of them sensed the danger in Luke Foster that I did. I no longer had the right to call her a dummy when I was obviously the idiot here.

“I’m telling you Victor, he can just look at somebody and tell you everything about their bone structure. It’s too accurate to just be guesswork! Apparently, he can remember anyone he's ever laid eyes on based on their bones. It’s incredible. I’d love for Professor Lucien to meet him. If only he had the time to fly out to Tokyo…”

The girl continues and I catch sight of my furrowed brows in the rear-view mirror, deepening the longer she goes on and on about men who weren’t me.

“…He’s already agreed to be a guest on the show! But…he did make a rather strange request."

For a moment, I can barely breathe. The skin over my knuckles blanches as it stretches tight, my grip on the wheel growing harder as I brace for unwelcome news. God knows what she would’ve agreed to in my absence. Filled with a sense of dread, I had to know all the same. “Which was?…”

She pauses, the hitch in her breath subtle but speaking volumes nonetheless.

“Just say it, dummy.” I soften my tone in encouragement though my mind was already racing, thinking of all the ways my legal team could dissolve a contract should the girl have already signed papers.

“Well, he…he asked if he could examine my body in lieu of payment for appearing on the show. You should’ve seen him! He was so desperate he was practically begging and I…I just couldn't say no."

MOTHERFUCK!

Chapter 5: Role Model

“STUPID VICTOR LI!”

You had meant to throw the rolled-up magazine in dramatic rock star fashion, sending it flying across your suite at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel to give at least a resounding smack as it hits the wall. Instead, it flutters to the carpeted floor, barely a few feet from where you lay sprawled out on a bed much too large for a single person.

And from the surface of that glossy cover, Victor’s handsome face — all sharp eyes and chiseled jaw - staring up at you from beneath a headline that read: "Man On Top: How Victor Li Conquered The Business World.”

Man on top. What a tease if there ever was one — especially since you’ve developed the recent habit of falling asleep to the fantasy of having the broad expanse of Victor’s muscular chest hovering over you.

“The only thing he should be on top of is ME!”

Your voice echoes in the room, empty save for you. Even still, your cheeks burned from embarrassment over the absurdity of your current situation. Victor Li didn’t belong to you. Not when he had someone like Diana in his life.

Victor and Diana. Diana and Victor. A perfect match regardless of how the pieces fit. And for an instant, your anger flares to remember the nonchalance in Victor’s voice when he told you that their past history as lovers had no bearing on the present, as if they didn’t look like they belonged together when you saw them just now in the lobby of the hotel, moments after you purchased the magazine with Victor’s face gracing the cover from one of the shops.

Practically ecstatic in your surprise to see him there at the Tres Spades, you were just about to call out to him when his name died in your throat, choked by the sight of the woman at his side. Victor was escorting Diana to a limo waiting just beyond the revolving doors. And the last thing you saw before the chauffeur pulled away was the two of them slipping into the vehicle together.

He hadn’t even told you he was coming to Tokyo.

It was only after you became aware of the fact that you were blocking the entrance to the shop that you recovered from the shock, murmuring apologies as you pulled yourself together just enough to make your way back to the safety of your hotel room.

Rising up off the bed, your feet sink into the lush carpeting as you pad over to where the magazine lay. You pick it up and smooth out the crinkles, fingers tracing the outline of Victor’s profile as you do — gentle, as if you were touching the man himself. And when your nose begins to tingle, you know it won’t be long before you feel the familiar sting of tears behind your eyes.

“Think you could stop being so nice to me, Victor? You’ll give a girl the wrong impression.”

Heaving a sigh, you slip the magazine beneath a pillow on the bed. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table told you it was almost time for your dinner date with Dr. Foster. Sitting around moping wasn’t an option, at least not tonight. Lightly slapping your cheeks, you push the image of Victor and Diana out of your head and get ready to step into the shower.

Chapter 6: Hard To Swallow [Victor]

“I’m glad you remembered that you owe me a dinner, Victor Li. And though I practically had to drag you to this restaurant, I guess the means don’t really matter if the end result is the same. But still, what a lucky coincidence that we bumped into each other again at the Tres Spades of all places. Now that’s something to drink to.”

Diana holds up her glass, Cabernet Sauvignon swirling as it meets mine with a delicate clink. Under the table, the tip of her stiletto pushes against my oxfords before sliding past my ankle, inching its way up my leg. I pull away, watching those red lips spread into a smile as I do.

“You might be the first man who’s ever been able to resist me. Has anyone ever told you you’re one stubborn asshole?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She laughs at that, taking another sip of her wine before setting it down. “So, tell me about her.”

“Her?” I focus on cutting into my Kobe beef, already aware that Diana will see through my bluff. She always did.

“Surely there must be another woman if you keep turning me down over and over again, Victor. A girl has her pride too, you know.”

“We are not getting back together, Diana.”

“Tsk, you’re no fun, Vic. All work and no play, all the time. I’ll have to remind myself of that the next time I start entertaining thoughts of calling you up again.”

She pouts, but it isn’t long before her eyes take on that familiar spark of mischief as she continues.

“But seriously, tell me about your cute little producer. That is the girl you keep rejecting me for, I presume. I need to know about the woman who’s finally managed to infiltrate the entirety of Victor Li’s notoriously impenetrable heart. She must be quite the lover if she’s got you wrapped around her little finger like that, pulling strings with all your friends left, right and centre.”

It annoys me to no end that the mere mention of the girl is enough to reduce me to a swooning idiot. I fight to keep the smile off my face.

“You’ve got the wrong idea. She’s not my lover.”

Diana begins to protest, but her words are lost on me because I’ve stopped listening. In fact, the only thing I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears, propelled by the adrenaline racing through my veins to see him enter the restaurant.

Dr. Luke Foster.

WITH MY DUMMY, NO LESS.

And my dummy looks…absolutely gorgeous. Her hair is done up, leaving her graceful neck and collarbones exposed in a little black dress I’ve never seen her wear before, I realize with not an insignificant amount of jealousy.

But wait…collarbones?!

Sure enough, that surgeon is staring at her clavicle like some kind of pervert. The sight alone incites the beginnings of a dull throbbing in my temples, no doubt exacerbated by the vice-like clench of my jaws.

I follow them with my gaze as they are led to a table for two; fixate on Luke’s face even as the sommelier arrives to make his recommendations to the pair. The doctor stares at my girl like he couldn’t care less about the meal, as if the only thing he hungered for was precisely what I myself had desired for so long: the woman. And she—

Just looked my way.

Surprise etches itself onto her beautiful features — the brows I had dreamt of one day lightly running a fingertip over while she sleeps lifting into a delicate arch. And why shouldn’t she be surprised? I had given her no indication that I had rushed over to Tokyo from Loveland City as soon as I heard what Luke had requested of her.

But there is no nod of acknowledgement, no smile in greeting. Just her, looking away as if she hadn’t seen me at all, her smile apologetic when she retrains her attention on the doctor. And while it was only for a fraction of a second, I could have sworn her eyes carried a hint of sorrow.

Or perhaps I’m projecting.

Because her obvious avoidance feels like a rebuff, a sucker punch to the gut. She’s never blatantly ignored me like that, no matter how wound up she was even during those times when I verbally tore her sub-par proposals to shreds. The feeling of rejection sits heavy on my chest, the tie around my neck much too tight.

“Victor, are you all right?”

Diana’s voice cuts through my thoughts. She is looking at me curiously. I reach for my glass of wine, suddenly feeling like I was on the verge of choking. “Of course, what could possibly be wrong?”

“ ‘What’s wrong’ is the fact that you haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said for the past ten minutes. Even if there’s no chance we’ll ever get back together again as you so adamantly insist, the least you could do is pay attention to the person you’re sharing a meal with.”

I take a deep breath, more than a little disconcerted by the girl’s ability to affect me. “Of course. My apologies, you’re absolutely right. Please, continue.”

Across the candlelit table, I look Diana in the eye, resolved to keep up at least the pretence of being interested in what she had to say when all I wanted to do was storm the table where Luke sat with my girl. With each sideways glance in their direction, my grip tightened on my utensils to see them chatting, seemingly engrossed in the world’s most interesting conversation.

And when she hands over a manila envelope to the doctor, my heart skips a beat.

Could it be…marriage documents?!

One tiny corner of my brain berates me for how ridiculous I am being but when it comes to her, I simply can’t help it, and the fantasy in which I casually stroll over, flip the table onto Luke Foster and steal my girl away in a bridal carry becomes so vivid in my mind’s eye, it almost seems like a good idea.

Diana excuses herself to use the restroom and I pounce on the opportunity to send the dummy a text:

“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR. DON’T BE LATE.”

Chapter 7: Choked Up

“Is there something wrong, Dr. Foster? You haven’t touched your meal.”

You do your best to school your expression into one of polite neutrality as you take in the strange sight of the pale, blond-haired man shaking out an alarming number of pills onto the palm of his hand, tapping loudly on a bottle seemingly produced out of nowhere. He pops them all into his mouth at once and you pray you won’t have to perform the Heimlich maneuver as he chases them down with a few gulps of water.

A smile spreads across the doctor’s lips as his eyes fall upon your collarbones once more. You were used to feeling like a third wheel by now, even when alone with Luke Foster, given his penchant for carrying on conversations while staring intently at your bones. But you took no offence at his behaviour, especially after Baba’s attempts to give you insight into Luke’s peculiar mannerisms:

“Try not to take it personal, Miss. Lu will look at anyone who’s got beautiful collarbones. It’s a well-known fact that he’s obsessed with the boss’s - he's even framed the X-ray films of Eisuke’s bones. He likely just wants yours to add to his collection.”

Strange though it was, the request that Luke be allowed to have X-rays films of your collarbones in exchange for appearing on Miracle Finder was innocent enough. Certainly nothing that warranted the stony silence you received on the other end of the line when you called Victor the other day to tell him that Dr. Foster wanted to examine you. After a brusque “I have to go,” he had hung up. No goodbyes, not even a mutter of “dummy.”

But Luke Foster had been nothing short of a perfect gentleman, never once laying a hand on you. Moreover, he even insisted on paying for tonight’s meal despite the fact that you had invited him as thanks for appearing on the show.

“Please, just call me Luke. Vitamins and water are all I need to survive. I only ordered because Eisuke said it might be awkward if you seemed to be the only one dining.”

“I-I see.” You smile, taking another bite of wagyu. And for a moment, you are too wrapped up in the blissful way it seemed to melt on your tongue to be disconcerted by the strange events of the evening.

You weren’t, however, too distracted to continue throwing surreptitious glances in Victor’s direction, fighting to keep composed each time Diana’s laughter carried over to your table. What were the chances that you’d find yourselves at the same restaurant in all of Tokyo? You know that he knows you are here; even Chik couldn’t put on a performance convincing enough for the LFG CEO to believe for a second that you didn’t see him.

With your dismal acting skills, you definitely didn’t stand a chance.

“You’re in love with him.”

COUGH, COUGH!

You clear the steak lodged in the back of your throat with a few hacking coughs, half of your face hidden behind your napkin as you tried to be as discreet as possible, the words “Death by Wagyu” flashing through your mind. After soothing your throat with a sip of wine, you ask:

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re in love with that man sitting just over there with the woman dressed in red. That Victor fellow who accompanied you to that first meeting with Eisuke.”

For someone who seemed to pay very little attention to matters that didn’t concern bones, Luke Foster was surprisingly perceptive. Or maybe you weren’t as discrete as you thought you were and it was obvious to all but yourself that you were staring at the golden couple.

“I…how did you...what makes you—”

“Please pass this message on to him for me. If he doesn’t treat your collarbones with the respect they deserve, he can’t blame me for swooping in to take his place.”

Then, for the very first time that night, Luke Foster looks you in the eye, the intensity in blue-grey irises making your breath hitch when he says: “Until then, I hope you find happiness with him, Sexy Bones — especially since he also seems to be exceedingly fond of you. Quite the annoyance, really.”

And for the very first time that night, you smile freely, naturally, at Luke, blushing hard as you contemplate his words. Suddenly bashful, you drop your gaze only to catch sight of the manila envelope you brought with you. You pass it across the table to him.

“Here. Your payment for agreeing to appear on Miracle Finder.”

The expression on Luke’s face can best be described as euphoric when he takes the films from you, momentarily excusing himself from the table as he murmurs something about requiring brighter lighting to examine them.

That is when you hear the buzz of your phone from inside your purse. And when you finally fish it out, you see a single text from Victor, commanding as always:

“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR. DON’T BE LATE.”

Chapter 8: Green-Eyed Monsters [Victor]

“Another whiskey on the rocks for you, Sir?”

I nod to the bartender, watching as he chips away at a block of ice to produce a perfect crystalline sphere — still spinning in the glass when he pours the amber spirit over it like a libation. It almost takes my mind off the fact that the girl is late. By exactly ten minutes, according to my watch. And for a moment, I’m gripped by a sense of panic when I consider the possibility that she might not come.

She never did answer my text though I knew she saw it — having witnessed her reaching into her purse to pull out her phone seconds after I sent the message. And while the logical part of my brain is telling me I’m being an absolute idiot, worst-case scenarios are already running through my head: the girl is side-swiped by a car while crossing the street, or somehow managed to fall into an open manhole and is currently standing knee-deep in sewage.

Or maybe she is pinned to the wall in a dark corner somewhere, hemmed in on either side by the gifted hands of a world-class surgeon by the name of Luke Foster.

I lift the glass to my lips, too impatient to even savour the smooth burn of the drink as I reach for my phone to send her another text. That is when I see her:

Cheeks flushed and chest gently heaving as if she had rushed to get here. An errant lock of hair falling from her up-do, framing that beautiful face like I had dreamt so many times of doing with the palm of my hand.

She makes her way towards me in that dimly lit bar, and though I’m aware of the faint ticking of the second hand of my watch, time may as well have stood still. Because I could have lived in that moment forever, gazing upon the light in her eyes as if they held every last star in the sky, as if those heavenly bodies had fallen just for her in precisely the same way I had: deeply, irrevocably.

And I know there is no turning back.

“Victor, sorry I’m late! What are you doing here in Tok—”

“Why did you ignore me?” My voice comes out stern, even to my ears, and I curse myself for losing my cool around her yet again. The girl furrows her brows, eyes dropping from my face to the half-empty glass of whiskey sitting on the counter. And when she looks up again, something in her countenance has changed — soft surprise giving way to a hardened expression.

“If it’s the text you’re referring to, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

She looks away, refusing to meet my gaze as she perches on the stool beside me. “Surely you wouldn’t have wanted me to interrupt your dinner date, especially when you and Ms. Shum seemed so intimate.”

Intimate?

The bartender approaches, interrupting our conversation before I get the chance to formulate a reply. “What can I get for you, Miss?”

“She’ll have a glass of warmed milk—”

“Whiskey. On the rocks, please.”

She speaks over me, turning slightly in my direction as she does. I ignore the murmur of “Ladies’ choice” from the bartender as well as the smirk on his face as he begins preparing her drink. The thinly veiled challenge in the girl’s expression — elbow propped up on the counter with her chin resting atop a loose fist — only serves to highlight how incredibly alluring it is when she pushes back.

“Hmm. Bold. Since when did you start drinking whiskey? I don’t think you need me to remind you of your non-existent alcohol tolerance. Besides, didn’t you already have enough to drink at dinner?”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Victor Li,” she says, reaching for the glass the bartender sets down before her. She takes a moment, staring at the rich, golden hues before finally taking a sip. I fight to keep the smile off my face when hers pulls into a grimace from the sting of the alcohol she clearly wasn’t familiar with. Dummy.

“I’m surprised you even noticed me at all, not with the lovely Diana there. But I guess old wounds really do have difficulty closing, no matter how much we say they’ve healed.”

“You’d have to ask for the expert opinion of your overly friendly doctor about that.”

“Excuse me?” She sets her drink down a bit harder than likely intended, sending the liquid sloshing about the glass to kiss the pink of her lipstick imprinted on its edge.

I don’t like where this conversation is going, the ill-disguised barbs only serving to increase the tension between us. It was foolish to have what should’ve been a very private discussion in a public space but, as always, the thought of her and Luke together is enough to make me forget my place and position, throwing caution to the wind and behaving with reckless abandon.

And still, the heat beneath my collar goads me on.

“Luke Foster. The one you’re so enthralled with that your manners seem to have been completely swept from memory. I presume that’s the reason why you didn’t acknowledge my existence when you saw me in the restaurant.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief as she leans in close, voice dripping with sarcasm: “Just like how you didn’t remember to tell me you were coming to Tokyo? Or maybe you weren’t planning on telling me at all, since it clearly looked like you weren’t here on business. But then again, I guess your business is none of mine.”

I don’t know whether I want to push back or kiss her senseless.

Instead, I settle for a deep breath, trying to keep my frustration in check. Having a heated argument with her was not how I had intended my evening to go. In fact, my entire day had not proceeded as planned, and if I hadn’t been accosted by Diana as soon as I stepped foot in the Tres Spades hotel, I would have been having dinner with the woman who occupied all my thoughts, all the time. At the very least, I could’ve saved her from the clutches of a pervert doctor.

I glance in her direction, study the beautiful melancholy of her silent profile as she watches the ball of ice slowly melt into her drink. Then I take another sip of mine, steeling myself for reparations I desperately needed to make.

“I am only going to say this once, so listen closely. Diana Shum and I dated shortly after graduation for all of two months before we decided to part ways on amicable terms. We make for much better business partners than we ever did romantically, and while she has expressed occasional interest in rekindling our relationship, I have never been of the same mind. I can assure you this will never change.

“The reason I came to Tokyo is not because of her — professional or otherwise — but because I was in a rush to prevent a certain dummy from doing anything she’d regret later on. But…”

I knock back the rest of my whiskey, emptying the glass.

“…I’m afraid I’m too late.”

She looks at me now, eyes wide as if she were still processing the words. Her next question comes on a whisper: “Why would you be too late?”

And it is my turn to look away.

“Well, you seemed to be pretty intimate yourself with Dr. Foster during your dinner date. I can only presume that…”

The girl moves closer and I can’t help the way my eyes are drawn to her mouth — the tremble of her lower lip, full and pink and lush. Without thought, I allow my gaze to trace along the graceful column of her neck, settling at the delicate notch between her collarbones and in that instant, I come to a visceral understanding of the extent of Luke Foster’s obsession, for mine was magnified a million times over:

I yearned for the entirety of this woman before me — needed her for myself, now and forever.

“Presume what?” Her voice is low, shaking.

“I can only presume that you’ve already allowed him to…examine your body.”

There is a moment of silence — each torturous second seeming to stretch into eternity to smother the last embers of hope.

“I have…”

Oh god.

“…given him X-ray films of my collarbones as he requested. That is all. He’s never touched me, not even once. I took him out to dinner tonight so I could give them to him as thanks for appearing on the show.”

Petty. Sheepish. I felt all these things, but none so powerful as the staggering sense of relief that washes over me to hear her say these words. Closing my eyes, I let the revelation sink in, finally feeling like I can breathe for the very first time that night.

Chapter 9: The Big Bang

You don’t quite know what made you do it.

The ambience of the bar, perhaps: sultry jazz and flickering candles purposefully placed to create just enough shadows for a veil of privacy.

Or maybe it was the crestfallen uncertainty that painted the handsome features of Victor Li’s face, his sudden display of vulnerability both novel and endearing.

Most likely however, it was the way in which his downcast expression morphed into one of ecstatic relief when you told him that Luke Foster had not laid a single finger on you.

Because when Victor tilts his head back, eyes closed and sighing deeply as if some unfathomable burden had been lifted, you cannot help but bring your lips to the Adam’s apple bobbing along the length of that strong, thick neck.

Cedar wood and pine.

The notes of his cologne are so familiar you didn’t realize how much you missed his scent until you literally came face to face with it. Victor is warm, so very warm beneath the skin of your lips. And under your touch, you become vaguely aware of the fact that the rise and fall of his chest has stilled.

At any other time, you would’ve questioned your sanity for how boldly you were behaving, especially towards someone who was your boss. You had never been one to put yourself out there when it came to matters of the heart. Something about the moment however, about Victor, made you feel like the one thing you could not do was let this chance pass you by.

So when you hear that shuddering breath, feel the faint scratch of his five o’clock shadow when he nuzzles against you in return, you know you’ve made the right gamble. Being with Victor Li feels right. And the surreal sense of belonging you find within the embrace of his muscular arms gives you the courage to say, “You must really believe I’m a dummy if you think I’d let any man other than you touch me.”

He slides a finger beneath your chin, gently lifting until all you can see are those jet black eyes, swimming with heat and emotion. The sudden silence of your surroundings sinks in: no more music, no idle chatter. Not even the rustle of limbs moving about in the dimly lit bar. And there, in the strange privacy of suspended time…

...Victor kisses you.

* * *

“Are you sure…this is…what you want?”

The deep timbre of Victor’s voice sends a thrill vibrating along the surface of your skin as he questions you between kisses — laid on your mouth, the line of your jaw, the pulse of your neck. His firm body presses you into a corner of the elevator, empty save for the two of you writhing in unison against a mirrored wall.

Each movement of his soft lips against yours is purposeful, imbued with meaning: longing in the gentle teeth that nibbled on your lower lip before drawing it into his mouth, in the sensual slide of the tongue that sought yours. Affection obvious in the hands that rose to cup your face, thumbs tracing circles on the apples of reddened cheeks to tell you in no uncertain terms that Victor Li belonged to you as much as you yearned to belong to him.

So you had no qualms about answering in the affirmative, nodding your head because the press of Victor’s muscular thigh between your legs already left you breathless and wondering whether he could feel your wet heat seeping through your panties.

And all he really did was kiss you.

Ding.

The elevator stops at your floor and even before the doors slide open, Victor has hoisted you up, wrapping your legs tightly about his tapered waist and whispering into your ear, “Which room?”

You knew Victor was fit, had seen him move fast and effortlessly through the waters of his Olympic-sized swimming pool that one time he had you deliver a report to his mansion on a Sunday. And yet, you could not help but admire the sheer perfection of his physique — the bulk of his biceps, flexed beneath strained layers of clothing; the ease with which he carries you all the way to your suite.

And when he sits you down upon the king-sized bed, you wonder if it is, in fact, too small for all the things you cared to do with him.

The LFG CEO shrugs off his suit jacket, loosening his tie just enough to pull it over his head before dropping to kneel at your feet. You watch him reach for you, shiver when he caresses the sensitive skin behind your knee with a light graze of gentle fingertips. Large hands trail down your calf — touch barely there and teasing — until his palm finally cups the heel of your stiletto to slide it off your foot.

He looks up at you then, the intensity in ebony irises rendering you still and mute as you patiently await his next move despite the frenzied pounding in your chest. There is a stroke of something almost feral in the dark depths of the gaze that falls heavy upon you — searching your eyes, lingering on your lips…tracing the neckline of your dress.

“I’ve never seen you wear this dress before.” Victor says, taking the same amount of care to remove the shoe from your other foot.

And if you were able to think straight under the influence of his touch — the hands that pushed back the hem of your dress as they roamed higher and higher up your thighs towards your heat — you might have found it strange that Victor was choosing now, of all times, to comment on your wardrobe choices. As it was, you answered without second thought: “It’s new. I bought it especially for tonight’s dinner.”

Victor stills and when he speaks again, there is a faint tremble in that voice, as if fighting to contain some unfathomable emotion.

“The doctor couldn’t stop staring at you. I know because I was the same way. I couldn’t look away from the moment you stepped foot in that restaurant.”

The revelation leaves you silent, waiting with bated breath for Victor to continue.

“Forgive me…”

Fingers entwine with fabric, gripping tight.

“…but I can’t stand the thought of you looking so beautiful for anyone else.”

RRRIIIIPPPP!

You fall back, wincing at the sound even as you feel your body respond to the sudden shock of having your dress torn right down the middle. Victor’s display of brute strength was so at odds with the façade of composure he was synonymous with and yet, there was no denying that you were incredibly aroused by this show of power — by the fact that he was now straddling you on all fours like some wild beast, tearing away the rest of your undergarments to leave you completely bare.

You’ve never been so desperate to feel him inside you, deep and rough and untamed. The thought throws you into a frenzy of lust.

Digging your fingers into the front of his dress shirt, you yank it open to send buttons flying in haphazard directions, but the only thing that concerned you was the sight of that broad chest and muscular torso, so impressive it actually elicits a moan from your lips and a smile from his in return.

Propping yourself up onto your knees, you press against him, flesh to flesh — one hand running over the burning surface of his skin even as the other tugs at the buckle of his leather belt, impatiently moving to palm him when his dress pants fall and gasping to finally see and feel the full extent of the LFG CEO:

Victor Li is rock hard and intimidatingly large.

And the sight makes your mouth water.

Sinking onto your heels, you trail your lips along Victor’s chiseled body, tongue teasing at his nipples as you do and relishing the catch of his breath in his throat.

But just as you begin to lay kisses along the deep V of his abdomen with the intent of tracing lower and lower, Victor stops you, puling you up for a kiss before laying back on the bed and positioning you above him…

…with his face between your legs.

“This way,” he says, voice muffled, and you might have commented on his inability to relinquish control even in the bedroom were it not for the sensation of his flattened tongue sweeping hot and wet along the seam of your already dripping pussy, teasing from end to end.

The sensation is so intense it’s almost unbearable. You throw your head back, mouth dropping in a silent scream as you sink onto Victor’s face, fighting the instinct to grinder lower onto that talented tongue despite the encouraging grip of Victor’s hands, strong on your hips and thighs.

“I’ve wanted to taste you…for so long,” he murmurs, sucking the swell of your clit into his mouth and humming in approval against moist flesh to hear you moan above him. “Your flavour is absolutely exquisite.”

Gathering your wits, you fold forward — intent on giving just as much pleasure as you were receiving. Victor twitches once within your grip, not quite contained by the circumference of your palm and fingers, running up and down the sizeable length of his cock, hot in your hand like his breath on your slit. And after placing a few wet kisses on the smooth, hard head, you open your mouth to taste him.

The tepid salt of his arousal. The groans originating from deep within Victor’s chest each time your lip brushed past the tender underside of his cock. The subtle rhythm of his pelvis, lifting in time to your mouth swallowing more of that solid shaft, quickly becoming slick with your saliva.

And then you catch sight of your reflection in the mirrored closet. See the bulge of Victor’s bicep as he grips your hip, the flex in the muscles of his neck when he lifts to bury his face deeper into your folds. See yourself: hair disheveled and eyes half-lidded, drunk on sex. Observe the messy smear of your lipstick as your mouth stretches to accommodate more and more of your boss’s cock. And when the tip of Victor’s tongue begins its relentless tease of your clit, you watch as a most debauched expression falls over your features, the tension in your body breaking as you find release on his lips.

You are still shaking when he enters you, sensitized by an orgasm that left tiny sparks of electricity running along every nerve, priming you for second helpings. A true paragon of patience, Victor Li takes his time, deliberately slow as he pushes — savouring the sensation of drenched, swollen flesh parting just for him.

It was almost unfathomable that you could experience such extreme pleasure, each powerful swing of Victor’s hips driving him deeper into your body — hitting just the right angles until your very senses were extracted along with your second release of the night, running slick between your legs to ease the slippery slide of your bodies.

It draws out Victor’s own, your lover moving to pull out moments before you surprise him by taking him once more into your mouth — gaze locked onto those dark eyes from below as you taste him on your tongue, euphoric to see him bite his lips when your lick yours to swallow every last drop.

Chapter 10: Pillow Talk

Beep Beep Beep Beep.

You roll over, eyes still closed as you reach out to hit the snooze button on the alarm clock.

Except your palm comes down on warm flesh with a resounding smack, echoing throughout your hotel room and accompanied by a deep voice that says, “Are you finally awake, Dummy?”

Your eyes shoot open to see Victor lying naked in bed next to you, a splotch of red blooming on his chest where he had been attacked. He sets his phone down to hand you a glass of water from the bedside table, and even though memories of the previous night come rushing back to burn your cheeks, you cannot help but notice how glorious he looks bathed in morning light. You hope he doesn’t see the way your hand shakes when you accept the glass from him with a meek “Thanks.”

Victor clears his throat, waiting for you to finish drinking before he says, “That was the fourth time you slept through the alarm. I’ve already informed your colleagues you’ll be taking the day off. We didn’t get much sleep last night and I think you’ll need some time to…recover.”

You bite your lip, turning sideways to feign a sudden interest in the curtains so he wouldn’t see the giant smile spreading onto your face. It was almost surreal that Victor Li was your lover, and if it weren’t for the exquisite soreness you felt between your legs, you would’ve been hard pressed to believe it for yourself.

The sheets rustle and before you know it, Victor has his chest pressed up against your bare back, laying a soft kiss on your shoulder before he rests his chin on it.

“How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Okay. Pretty good, actually.” It was too early in the game to tell him you were already doing cartwheels in your mind.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that because I found this under your pillow…”

He places something in your hands. Your eyes widen when you recognize the magazine with his face on the cover.

“…And this ‘man on top’ wants to know what it feels like to have this woman on top of him for the rest of the day.”

You’ve made it to the end! 🤩 Thank you so much for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚

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havenesa-sera-fina · 4 years

Text

Hidden Marks [3: What are you Hiding?]

Summary: Wrapping his own arms around her shoulders, Namjoon pulled her in, resting his head on the crown of her head, his heart beating steadily, which Sera heard and smiled to herself. Even with his odd lengthy limbs, they fit together perfectly, "Sera, I'm falling in love with you, that I want to convince you not to go, but I trust you. I just want you to be happy, to never cry over us again. I can't promise you that if you choose to stay with us, everything will be rainbows and sunshine, but I promise you that we won't give up on you, on this relationship. We're not perfect like everyone thinks we are, we're not the perfect bunch of soulmates, we have problems as a group and individuals, secrets that we all keep, burdens that we try to carry on our own. Though we all have each other, to fall back on when things get brought, and that includes you now. We're soulmates, so if anything happens, don't be scared to tell us.

(Poly BTS/OT7 x Reader/OC)

College Au / Soulmate Au

Disclaimer: Bts isn't my or any real life people (obviously.) Any other characters are my though. This is my story so do not republish this anywhere or I will report.

There maybe some triggers, but I will address them within the chapters.

Sources: Wattpad

Word count: 2281

Monday night I emailed my professors to let them know I wouldn't attend classes for Tuesday, and exhaustion finally caught up to me that night as I went to sleep, with several needles in my arm, an oxygen mask around my mouth, with the beeping of the monitor. I woke up like that Tuesday afternoon.

Groggily, I removed the annoying mask from my face and pushed my hair away from my face as I glared weakly at the open curtain, as the sunlight was the one to interrupt me from my sleep. The temptation to just knock down the beeping monitor next to me was strong, but I just shifted in the bed, my sore muscles tensed slightly when I shifted to my side a bit. A groan escaped my mouth, wanting to fall back to sleep, but I couldn't.

Reaching for my phone in my bedside table, I winced slightly at the dozens of missed calls and text I received, mainly from Lilia, Kimie and Baekhyun.

Feeling slightly guilty, but not knowing what to say, I sent them a mass message that said I was fine, before putting my phone on mute, so I didn't have to deal with their endless questions of where I was at.

However, I sent Baekhyun a private text:

Can you come to the hospital whenever you have time? Please don't tell anyone I'm here.

I felt like absolute garbage, but at least the burning from my marks ceased, and the headache was gone.

Soon the same nurse from last night came, with her usual bright smile, "Miss. Han, how was your sleep?"

"My whole body is sore," My voice was scratchy, as I gratefully took the water that the nurse offered, "When can I leave?"

The nurse checked my vitals and told me everything seemed to be normal and would inform the doctor before giving me an estimate of when I'll be discharged. She left me alone to my own thoughts, as I settled back into my bed, my eyes heavy, but refusing to sleep. While I may be physically better, it didn't mean I was mentally better. It didn't stop that aching feeling I felt in my chest, the loneliness and emptiness I felt.

After a bit the nurse came back with the doctor, who went over my vitals and charts again, before asking me how I was feeling and replied that I was much better.

"There's this procedure in America," The doctor suddenly spoke, as she was typing away from the computer, looking away from me, "That gets rid of the soulmate mark, and terminates the soulmate bond. It hasn't been approved in Korea, but in America, it has an 80% success rate."

I didn't reply, but I unconsciously shifted the covers to hide the marks, which I knew would be black instead of gray now, as the therapy worked it's magic to repair the bond and in the end my soul. However, there was only so much it could fix, especially when I've been doing the same treatment for nearly four years.

"I assumed you already called someone to pick you up, I'll have your paper works prepared. You can leave in about two hours."

*****

"What is going to be your excuse to Kimie and Lilia? They've been worried about you all day," Baekhyun asked, breaking the silence in his car. The radio was on low, nothing more than a buzz in the background.

Shifting my eyes to glance slightly at the pick haired guy, I turned my body farther away from him, "Just tell them I went a male strip club and I had some fun," I snorted out, not wanting to think about how to deal with my two friends. That was also the reason why we were currently heading towards Baekhyun's apartment, so I can rest more before I return to my dorms and most likely to an awaiting Kimie with a Lilia by her side.

"You're getting worst Sera," he spoke once more, this time his voice more serious causing me to stiffen up a little, "The treatments been getting less and less effective. Give or take a couple of months before those don't even work. Then what?"

"Then I head to America."

"For what?"

"To get rid of the soulmate bond, and probably go to medical school there."

*****

I was mentally and physically exhausted as I walked up the stairs. Nearly falling several times, and I just wished some unknown being would just come, sweep me off my feet and to my bed. Then I wouldn't have to face Lilia and Kimie, after facing Baekhyun.

All we did for a straight hour was scream at each other, yell, fight, and insult one another.

After my announcement of going to America and for what reason, Baekhyun exploded, calling my decision stupid. I of course argued back and tried to defend my decision. We hurled insults after insults at each other, both angry for completely different reasons, and I was the first to break. After our hour of fighting, I spent an hour crying with Baekhyun trying to comfort me, both of us apologizing, before I decided it was time to go back to my dorm.

I wished I accepted the offer to stay at his place for the night, as I pushed my key into the door and pushed it open.

Along with Kimie and Lilia, were two other people that I just wasn't mentally prepared to deal with. Even so, my heart skipped a beat when I saw them.

Sitting on one of the couches in the living room was some would say, the perfect man to exist. With his broad shoulders and slim waist, every girls dream body for their boyfriend. Well-defined facial features with slight cat-like eyes, which were a rich brown color, with a pair of plump lips. His dark black hair stood out against her perfect skin, and he really was a worldwide handsome guy.

Sitting next to him was another breathtakingly beautiful person, large brown doe eyes could make any girl swoon, especially his double eyelids that many people in Korea dreamed to have. He was still well-defined but had almost like a child aspect to him, and whenever he smiled he looked like a bunny. He was Mr. Heartthrob.

"Where the hell have you been!" It was Lilia to speak of more yell once I closed the door, "Do you know how worried we all were! And all you offered was a lame-ass, 'I'm fine, don't worry about me."

I didn't respond, didn't even think as I just stood there, blankly staring back at Lilia who looked furious.

"You didn't even come back last night and came back late today! What in the hell is going on with you Sera?"

What is going on with me?

Is there something wrong with me?

The answer is most certainly.

"I've been trying to be a supportive friend, but it's getting hard when all you do is push us all away! Did I do something wrong? I'm your fucking friend, just talk to me!"

I watched as Jin stood up, and walked behind Lilia and placed comforting hands on her shoulders to try to calm her down. It caused an immense pain within me and it took everything in me to not double over in pain.

Of course, it didn't calm Lilia down, as she only pushed Jin's hands away, and took a step closer to me.

"Do you even consider me a friend? All you ever talk to now is Baekhyun, is he your soulmate? Just tell me something, anything because I have no idea what's going on with you anymore."

There's the odd word again; soulmate. The very word I used to swoon over in middle school, to dream about finding my own. Now it's the bane of my existence.

"Let alone how mean you've been acting to my boyfriends! They've done nothing but try to befriend you, but all you do is push them away!"

Because it hurts to be around them.

"And you're moving universities and you didn't even tell me. Did you even plan on telling me?"

Without thinking, I opened up the white paper bag I was holding the whole time, and pulled out a clear orange bottle, with paper around it. The prescription my doctor gave me.

Overwhelming anger came over me, as I suddenly raised my hands and threw it harshly against the wooden floor, causing the lid to fly open. Several small white pills scattered across the floor, as the loud sound caused the room to go silence. The only thing that can be heard was my heavy breathing.

Bringing up a hand to run over my temples, to try to comfort myself, I didn't dare to look at Lilia, "I'm tired Lilia," I spoke quietly. My voice was raspy as I tugged at the collar of my shirt. It was becoming hard to breathe.

Kimie finally stood up from the couch, and with a concerned expression, she walked towards me. Instinctively I brought my left arm to my chest, and backed away, and lowered my gaze

She seemed taken aback from this, as she stopped in her track and frowned, "Sera, we were just concerned about you, ignore Lilia."

"I just..." I stuttered as my voice shook and I hated it, "I'm just tired. I'll pick up my stuff and head to Baekhyun's. Sorry for bothering you."

When I made an attempt to move around Kimie and to escape my room, Lilia roughly grabbed my left arm, stopping me. However, her stopping me wasn't the problem, it was the fact that her hands were on my marks. Without even realizing it, I began to tremble, as I tried to yank my arm out of her grasp, but she had an iron grip on it.

"You're always covering your mark, what the hell do you have to hide? Do you even see us as your friends?" I watched as her other hand reached up to my left arm, towards the ends of the bandages, with intent to take it off.

Panic overcame me, as with my free hand I roughly pushed her away, causing her to bump into Jungkook. The sight of Lilia in his arms only caused everything to be worst. Backing away, I bumped into Kimie who was yelling at Lilia.

I couldn't think straight, my mind was everywhere, and I was having a panic attack. With my breathing heavy, I wrapped my arms around myself, and closed my eyes. The feeling of Kimie's arms around me, trying to comfort me, only made the pain and anxiety worst, my left arm burning so painfully as I chocked out a sob.

"Please-" I wheezed out, unable to say anything else as I crouched down, trying to wrap myself into a ball. All I wanted to do was disappear and be alone, "It hurts," groaning out, I hissed out in pain, almost tempting to tear away at my own bandages. But that would only ruin everything, "I'm sorry."

"Sera," Kimie spoke worriedly, crouching in front of me, but I refused to look at her, "you're having a panic attack, you need to breathe slower.

It was easier said than done, as it felt like my heart was going to leap out of my chest. Especially when I heard the two men in the room whispering comforting words to Lilia. There was unbearable pain, something that I haven't felt before as I forced my eyes open and met Jungkook's concerned brown eyes staring back at me.

Breaking away the eye contact, I forced a reminder that he was only concerned for as a friend. Nothing more.

I don't know how long we all stayed like that, Lilia staring at me with uncertainty written on her face, Kimie standing slightly in front of me as if protecting me from Lilia. Jin kept his hands on his girlfriend, to calm her down as Jungkook stared at me with an unreadable expression.

Swallowing hard, with shaky legs, I stood up, and pushed Kimie to the side slightly, just wanting to go to my room.

No one made a move, but their eyes were on me as I moved past them, with every intent to just disappear until I was forced to go back to class.

However, when I passed Jungkook, I don't know what force overcame him, but suddenly he raised his arm to grip my left wrist. So dangerously close to my marks.

When I snapped my head to look at him, he had a concerned expression, and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but just closed it.

There was a familiar spark where our skin touched, and any other time it would make me feel much lighter, the mark to hurt just slightly less. This was different though, as my heart constricted, the mark on my left arm flaring up once more.

Without thinking, I harshly yanked my arm out of his grip, "Just leave me the fuck alone!" I all but screamed out, not caring when he flinched away from me, "You and all your stupid soulmates, just leave me the fuck alone!"

I didn't wait for a reply, as I stormed into my room, making a note to lock it behind me.

Throwing myself onto my bed, I was breathing heavy, and waited for the tears to come as I stared at the empty ceiling. It never came though, instead of overwhelming emotions, all that come was numbing and emotionless feeling. I knew exactly why I was feeling this, a dry laugh leaving my dry lips.

I basically just rejected my soulmates.

[2281]

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years

Note

‘your tie is crooked.’ - starker wedding, maybe?

The One I’ve Been Dreaming Of

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M) Word Count: ~5K Notes: I kind of gave you a wedding! Maybe I’ll write a second part to this, who knows. Thanks for the prompt, nonnie! Warnings: it’s very soft, watch your step. Summary:

Peter Parker meets Tony Stark when he manages to snag a booth spot at the notorious Stark Expo. Cuteness ensues.

do the thing, send in all the prompts

During his sophomore year of college, Peter Parker met Tony Stark. He’d been working day and night for the entire semester to get his biodegradable fluid turned containers done in time to get them into the Stark Expo – Peter managed to barely sneak in, but he did it. In all of his years being in New York, Peter had only heard stories about the big collection of incredible inventions and technological advances, and he couldn’t wait to be a part of it.

So nervous leading up to the day, Peter didn’t secure any tickets for any of his friends or May – they all looked at him like he stabbed them in the back, so he went about trying to fix the problem. The ability to flash his badge at the door and get immediate entry into the expo hall made his heart race. It still blew his mind, the fact that he managed to create something good enough to snag booth space in one of the greatest tech expos in the entire world.

In all of his star struck glory, Peter lost track of where he was – his wandering eyes and overactive mind couldn’t focus on just one thing. The booths were pretty much ready for the opening the next day, so he looked his fill with no one around to watch him – or so he thought, at least.

“You know, the expo doesn’t start until tomorrow,” Peter heard from behind him. Turning quickly, Peter couldn’t help the way his jaw dropped. Tony Stark stood there in the flesh, his hands stuffed into well cut suit pants. His deep brown eyes were taking him in, a definitive curiosity settling within them.

Shaking himself, Peter shifted on his feet, his fingers fiddling with the ID badge around his neck. “Mr Stark, I –“

Tony spoke up suddenly, his voice on the right side of demanding. “Tony, please. None of that Mr. Stark bull shit,” Tony said, one of his hands coming out of his pocket to gesture in front of him. Peter watched the movement with wide eyes, his lips turning up in an amused grin.

“Tony, then. I’m Peter Parker, sir. I came in hopes of securing a few guest passes for a few of my adoring fans – this is the first time any of us have gotten this close to something so cool, everyone is pretty excited.” Peter found himself wondering why in the world he let all of that come out of his mouth, but it was out there now. It’d been a long time since word vomit came around and kick him in the face. Clenching his jaw, Peter fiddled with the badge a little more – idle hands were the bane of his existence.

“Oh, you brought in that biodegradable fluid that has bunch of purposes, right? Pepper showed me that one specifically a few days ago,” Tony admitted, his posture relaxing now that they seemed to be in more familiar territory. “What booth number are you? I want to stop by and hear the whole spiel.”

Taken aback, Peter caught himself smiling, his neck tingling from the praise he received from someone who didn’t know him from Adam. “Really? I mean – I’m in the C section at booth 109. The holoscreens you’re letting us use made putting my presentation together a total blast.” Peter didn’t mean to gush, but he spent so much time uploading his blueprints and making them presentable on the multi-dimensional tablets. Tony Stark was an absolute genius and Peter was not afraid to marvel in his presence.

“I’d be honored if you came and listened, Tony,” Peter added after a moment of silence between them. He felt a rush of heat move across his face and down his neck – the words were some of the boldest he’d ever let pass across his lips.

For the first time since stumbling upon the man, Peter recognized the look that passed across his face – Tony Stark blew up magazine covers with the most divine shit eating grin; having it projected at him seemed like a bit too much. Sucking in a breath, Peter passed the toe of his shoe across the floor, his entire body on fire from the intensity of the look.

“Count me in, Peter Parker. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Tony shot him a wink and kept heading down the row and back towards the exit. Peter had to stand around for a couple of minutes before he could force his legs to move. He wasn’t sure what made him feel more winded, the fact that he ran into Tony Stark, or the fact that the gorgeous genius promised to stop by his booth. Either way, Peter knew he needed to make sure his presentation was spot on – so he headed back to his dorm room, determination fueling him.

It didn’t cross his mind that he forgot the guest passes until he was standing in line with Ned, MJ, and May the next day – the three of them buzzing with excitement. He spent the entire time they waited trying to figure out a way to get them in without causing a commotion – it seemed a little bit too late to tell them he’d been irresponsible because a gorgeous man stood 20 feet away from him and smiled so nicely.

Getting to the door, Peter gave the man at the door his name and flashed him his badge – he felt the tension of trying to come up with a lie in his jaw, his teeth grinding slightly. After a few seconds of looking at the list, the security guard shuffled through a couple of white envelopes and handed one that said P. Parker to Peter. Inside were 5 guests passes and a note.

Thought you might need these. See you later.

Peter let out a huge sigh of relief and chalked the racing of his heart up to the endorphins rushing through him – it totally wasn’t the care in which Tony took to get him something he mentioned in passing – not that at all.

He quickly pulled three of the passes out, giving one to each of the people surrounding him. Walking forward to get them out of the line, Peter stopped everyone before they entered the big expo center. “Those will get you into everything except the backstage stuff. Have fun – but don’t forget to come watch me give my presentation at 2:30. Familiar faces in the crowd would be very much appreciated.”

MJ and Ned scattered quickly, the two of them looking at the badges around their neck the same way Peter did his the first time he saw it. Before leaving herself, May pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You’re going to kill it. Just let that nerdy little brain go and everything will be perfect.” She gave his arm a soft punch, then turned on her toes and headed through the door into the lively expo center, leaving him to it.

Walking in, Peter was totally astounded by the difference a few hours made – the lights were bright and people were pressed into the space ass to elbows. Suddenly glad he got to see some of the stuff while it was still calm, Peter tucked his head down and headed towards his booth. He wasn’t the only person that wasn’t totally up and running yet, but he hurried, anyway. The mass of people moving up and down the line of booths were people he could convince and impress – the quicker that happened for him, the better off he was.

It took him a couple of people to really warm up to the bouncing around the booth thing. Many people asked the same question, so he came up with a little rhetoric that would cover all of the basic things. There were only a few people that were genuinely interested – Peter spent a lot of extra time and energy talking with those people. It was exhausting, trying to stretch his brain in so many different directions.

Thankfully, Peter got to take a 20-minute break before his presentation – he capitalized on it by sucking down a Dr. Pepper and stuffing two Snickers bars into his mouth. The rush of sugar hitting him peaked right around the time he flicked his fingers across the front of the holoscreen to wake it up.

Before he started to talk, Peter felt a familiar stare on him – he looked up to find Tony Stark inconspicuously standing amongst the crowd. Tony threw Peter that same wink from the day before and nodded his head. To say he wasn’t waiting to see if Tony would actually show up would be a total lie.

The drumming of his heart against his ribcage slowed down, but only just slightly. A whole new set of nerves were trying to make their way to the forefront – having Tony Stark listen to something he spent so much time and energy on seemed like a pretty huge deal.

By the time Peter really got going, though, he totally forgot about the fact that there was a crowd around him – he simply talked about the science he’d been working on for a long time. He knew everything about the fluid he randomly stumbled upon during AP Organic Chemistry his senior year. Talking about it was easy and the more that came out of his mouth, the more natural it all became.

Wrapping up, Peter finally tore his eyes way from the incredible piece of technology housing his life’s work and locked eyes with Tony once again. This time, he grinned widely – the stealthily charming way his face changed from one emotion to the other practically kicking Peter right in the teeth. It took a second for him to catch his breath – human people shouldn’t be allowed to look that good.

The act of shaking everyone’s hand took up his attention almost immediately after breaking eye contact with Tony – he was swarmed by people dropping names and credentials like it meant anything to him. Peter simply gripped their hands, tried to pay attention as much as possible, and took the business card he was given. Though he knew he’d never use any of them, the thought of people being interested in his creation was a rather nice one.

May, MJ, and Ned all pulled him into a hug when they eventually made their way to the front of his booth. Over the past couple of years, Peter used the three of them as a sounding board every time he got stuck, or just needed to run through his findings again.

None of them needed to hear his presentation – they lived through it. Regardless, he was happy to have the support; even if their presence was entirely because of the man who’d been hanging back, obviously waiting for a free second to approach him.

Finally, after what felt like way too long, Tony Stark was standing in front of him. It took Peter a few seconds to collect himself enough to actually get words out of his mouth. “Thanks for coming,” Peter decided on, slipping a hand into the space between them.

Tony took it without hesitation – his fingers were warm and covered in callouses, the fact that he did his own work apparent in the well-worn nature of his palms and fingertips. More than beauty, then.

“Wouldn’t have missed it. You’ve got something interesting on your hands, Pete. With a little bit more funding and some better equipment – you could really have something.” Tony only dropped his hand then, Peter’s skin on fire from the tight grip and intense ‘zing’ that shot through him. Despite being covered by purple glasses, Tony’s eyes were recognizably watching him, the depth of their brown only enhanced by the darkness of the lens.

Peter let the words sink in now that the distracting touch wasn’t pumping liquid fire through his veins. Tony Stark, greatest brain in the world, thought he had something. What could that possibly mean? Peter knew the direction he wanted to take the biodegradable fluid, but also wanted to be the one to take it there. Whatever it was – the simplistic idea that Tony thought it was good seemed like more than enough.

“Probably the coolest thing I’ve ever heard,” Peter babbled, a hot blush slipped across his cheeks as he spoke, but he couldn’t even help it – this entire interaction seemed like a dream.

A deep laugh settled in the space between them, Peter reddening further when he realized just how nice the sound actually was. It pulled a bubble of excitement and laughter from Peter’s chest, too – the collection of sound immediately absorbed in all the madness surrounding them. He tried not to smile too widely – the last thing Tony Stark needed was another person gushing over him.

Which made the next thing to come out of Tony’s mouth a total surprise. “I’d love to hear more about it. And you, honestly. Any big plans after the expo hall closes tonight? Or could I possibly steal you away for dinner?”

Eyes bugging widely, Peter looked at him incredulously. When Tony didn’t put his hands up in jest, Peter let a huge smile spread across his face. The answering one from Tony himself was even better. Sucking in a breath, Peter didn’t spend another second hesitating. “No – no big plans. I would love to be stolen away for dinner.”

Thinking quickly, Peter took a pen from the table next to him and pulled Tony’s hand to him. Tony stared at him for a second, then spread his finger, turning his palm up – what Peter was about to do becoming apparent. “I’ll be here until 8. Let me know where to meet you.” He wrote his number carefully, leaving no room for confusion.

The smile they shared made Peter’s heart beat a little faster. Tony’s face was split wide by the smile, his cheeks crinkling at the corners from the force of it. His eyes got a little squinty, like he was staring at something bright instead of Peter himself. It felt like a long time before either of them moved a muscle – Tony finally stepped away, the hand with Peter’s number waving back at him as he retreated.

A few minutes later, Peter’s text message notification went off. Pulling his phone from his pocket, Peter found himself beaming.

Maybe – Tony Stark: Meet you at your booth when you’re done. Maybe – Tony Stark: Looking forward to it.

Quickly adding his contact, Peter glanced up at the time and let out a long breath – he still had 5 hours to get through.

----

After street tacos from a food truck a little outside the Brooklyn area code, Peter had a hard time not falling heels over head in love with Tony. The recognizable nerves in Tony’s eyes when he pulled his fancy car up to the slightly sketchy looking eatery made Peter laugh – he reached over and grabbed Tony’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “This is perfect.” Peter reassured, his stomach grumbling in agreeance. “How’s their barbacoa?”

From there, things took off without much of a hitch. It took Peter a while to get used to the fact that every single one of his moves with Tony was highly publicized – the idea of being famous was not one he ever played around with before. There were a few moments of doubt that put a bit of separation between them, but even then, Peter was unable to stay away. Tony’s patience and the respect he gave to Peter’s feelings spoke much louder than the clicks of paparazzi cameras.

The minute Peter finally gave himself to all that surrounded Tony, things between them got so much better. Tony took him in and showed him so many things about life that Peter couldn’t have possibly imagined. They shared the lab where Peter had access to everything he could’ve possibly needed to transform and adapt his biodegradable fluid. And when he was stuck or at the end point of one of his experiments, Tony would gesture him over and catch him up on whatever he’d been working on.

They did lots of things outside of the lab, too. In the many moments they spent together, Peter got to see a side of Tony that no one else did. He’d been around Tony and Pepper together and Tony and Happy to know that he kept walls up the entire time. Regardless of the fact that those two people were some of his oldest and closest friends, they weren’t privy to the final and most essential piece of Tony – the enormous heart that resided in the darkest confines of his chest.

During the still times with the older man, Peter learned that he snuffled in his sleep and when he was really tired, he’d talk about the experiment on his mind or recite words in Italian. Every now and again, Peter was conscious enough to put the word in his notes to be looked up later. Tony liked to be held when nightmares caught up to him and played the big spoon all other times – which was fine, Peter was not opposed to being held tightly against the warmest chest he’d ever encountered.

Physicality wasn’t instantaneous between them, either. Peter had to admit that he appreciated the restraint – getting to know Tony without putting the barrier of raging hormones between them to begin with made it even better when it did eventually happen.

In his teenage years, Peter was always embarrassed to admit that he kept his virginity – it seemed like a turnoff to the more mature people he always wanted to attract. Handing it over to Tony, however, felt like passing off something special – his boyfriend approached the situation with knowledge and care; Peter didn’t think many people could say their first time was THAT good.

Once Peter got the itch for pleasures of the flesh, they were all over each other. The 6 months it took for them to actually come together in that way was cherished – Peter got to know the little things before his brain became a beacon for insatiable want and desire. The way Tony made him feel was a welcome distraction and the final straw that broke into pieces to open up the dam of feelings he’d been doing his best to keep in check.

Tony took him out to celebrate finishing the semester about a year into their relationship – Peter only had one more year left and couldn’t wait to be done. A part of him wanted to take the many job offers Tony whispered in his ear when he amazed him in the lab, or when they discussed the homework that got progressively harder the further into his degree that he got. The part that always won out wanted to be absolutely prepared for it, though, and knew he wouldn’t be until he at least had a platform to stand on.

For once, Peter let Tony take him to a fancy place – he aced all 21 hours he took that semester, so it only seemed appropriate. In New York’s finest Italian establishment, Tony got them a private table in a fancy room attached to the main dining area. The table looked tiny compared to the empty space around them. The hostess left them with a nod – there wouldn’t be any menus that night, they were in for whatever the chef’s special was.

The conversation was easy, Peter listened to Tony recall a disgruntlement between Pepper and Happy, his cheeks alive with the smile that slipped across his face. Comfortability looked good so good on him. Reaching across the table, Peter grabbed Tony’s hand, a look of adoration slipping across his face. Tony quirked his head, a question in his gaze. “What?”

Peter shrugged his shoulders, his grip on Tony’s hand tightening a little. “Nothing. How good you look just caught me off guard.” His voice was level, the words obviously genuine.

Soft lips on his hand sent a shiver down the length of his spine. Peter shook his head, a nervous laugh escaping him. “That’s so cheesy.” Tony said as he pulled away, his smiling growing. “I could say the same for you, though. Your excitement is written all over you.”

“Good – I’m happy. Finding success and being in love agrees with me.” Peter held his breath, mentioning love hadn’t been the plan, but it couldn’t seem to be helped. The red wine they were sipping on loosened his lips and the openness of his heart made it that much easier. He didn’t have any intention of going anywhere. The feeling was only going to get more intense – the depth of it different with each passing minute. Why not admit it?

“It does – there are times when it’s devastating, how beautiful you truly are lit up like this,” Tony replied softly. It pulled the breath from his lungs, how earnestly Tony said those words. He pulled off his glasses for the first time all evening, the molten brown of his eyes shining. “I love you, Pete. I’m in love with you. In that weirdly desperate sort of way. Have been for a while, too. A long while.” Tony disguised the vulnerability of his words with a chuckle, his hand tightening within Peter’s grip.

Grinning widely, Peter started to babble – “Same. Me too – I mean, I love you, too. So much. It’s insane, being with you – but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

And there wasn’t – no matter how much MJ and Ned fought against the age gap between them. To Peter, age was just a number and there wasn’t anything that was going to convince him otherwise. Tony kept up with him and when he couldn’t, he stood back and let Peter do his thing – no matter what age, doing something like that was hard for any person. Despite the labels that floated around Tony’s head, Peter knew better and understood Tony’s tendencies and attitudes. There were certain things that would always protect a person – and Tony chose walls to build as his.

Taking the time to look behind them was a challenge that Peter was more than willing to take on – the things he discovered when doing so were more than worth it.

When the moment he’d been hoping for since they met came, Peter said yes without hesitation. It wasn’t grand or out in the open, the way Tony asked him to be his husband. They were sitting out on the balcony after a last-ditch effort meal they threw together with the remaining goods in the refrigerator, clearing space for the food delivery set to come the next day. Tony poured them an aged scotch and they curled up in the swinging seat they built themselves.

Peter leaned into the weight of Tony’s arm around him, his head settling against his chest. It’d been a while since they got to do anything other than pass each other by, so it felt stupidly good to be butted up against his greatest comfort source. A soft sigh left his lips, his chest relaxing for the first time in days.

“This is nice,” Peter said – the silence around them seemed to absorb the words, adding them to the atmosphere they created in the little bubble they were existing in in that very moment.

Tony pressed a kiss to his forehead, the scratch of his goatee making Peter’s eyes close, the touch enticingly familiar and soothing. “Everything about this, us, is nice, Pete. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Tony tugged him a little closer as he spoke.

The words took his breath away, but they were only the beginning. “I’ve had this thing in my pocket for months now,” Tony remarked as he shifted a little, a black box coming into view. Strong fingers flipped it open – a damascus steel wedding band sat within it. “I can’t even remember what I was waiting for, but it seems silly now. I want this forever, Pete – the ease and comfortability and passion that exists between us. Does that sound okay? Will you be my husband?”

Peter looked between Tony and the most unique ring he’d ever seen. Without thought, he nodded his head – “Yeah, yes – of course!” Peter put his untouched drink down on the ground and used his free hands to grab Tony’s face and press their lips together.

It took a few minutes to pull away from each other, Tony insistently kissed him the second their lips touched – Peter could feel the rush of so many emotions releasing in the caress. He kept his grip on Tony tight, Peter unwilling to let him get away. When the need for oxygen finally forced the issue, Tony sat back, pulling Peter’s hand with him, slipping the ring onto his finger. The swirl of the two metals together looked like an optical illusion against the paleness of his skin.

Tony pulled Peter’s hand to his lips and placed a kiss against the ring resting on the skin of his third finger.

“Forever it is then.”

----

The actual planning of the wedding was a lot more exhausting than Peter initially figured. Pepper, the beautiful human that she was, took care of a lot of it – she had friends that were wedding planners, so the most stressful things were handled flawlessly. It was the little things, however, that tripped them up the most. Tony wanted whatever Peter wanted, and that made deciding twice as difficult.

For the most part, Peter worked on instinct. He knew Tony’s favorite color was a dark red, which went perfectly with the gray of the suits he had in mind. The idea of having too many flowers anywhere near the place he said ‘I do’ made his stomach turn, so he focused on the food and alcohol choices that seemed a little more necessary. All of the extravagance seemed a little silly when Peter would’ve married Tony in a paper bag if that was the only option – but he knew tying himself to Tony Stark came with obligations, starting with a wedding that people could be seen at.

Despite that, Peter kept the guest list pretty small and decided to keep it simple and have it on the penthouse level of Stark Tower were they’d slowly been making a home for the last couple of years. A moving crew came in two days before the ceremony and removed all the furniture in the living room, dining room, and kitchen – the space now empty and equipped for the eclectic collection of foods that would be offered after their brief ceremony.

Before anyone knew it, they were getting ready for the small rehearsal dinner that May insisted she help with. Thankfully, Peter managed to cut the guest list down to their immediate friends making it much easier to handle. There were going to be more than 100 pairs of eyes staring at him the next day, the less people he needed to deal with the night before, the better.

Peter spent an extra couple of hours in the lab before going up to get ready – his mind was delightfully clear after getting his hands dirty. The stress he’d been feeling started to boil down into nothing the closer it got to marrying Tony. It’s what he wanted – a forever with the person that made him the happiest. No matter what happened that evening or the next day, getting to call himself a Stark at the end of it all was the only thing that mattered.

Tony ended up having a meeting until right before dinner, so his presence in the bathroom while Peter finished up getting ready made him jump. “Tony – holy shit!” Peter shouted, his voice echoing around them. Arms wrapped hm up, a chuckle huffing against his neck the only answer he knew he was going to get.

“I got done a little early. Thought I’d see how you were handling the suit,” Tony muttered, his lips moving across the length of Peter’s neck as he spoke. His hands moved down the length of Peter’s jacket, and across the crisp leather belt holding custom fit trousers. “Looks pretty good, except – “

Quick hands turned him around, Peter grinning when he came face to face with Tony’s dark eyes and soft smirk. “Your tie is crooked.” He worked the knot until it rested on the hollow of Peter’s throat, his fingers caressing the skin there. He was decked out in the dark red Tony liked, his shirt, vest, and tie etched with black seams and outlines. Tony wore black with the same shirt, vest, and tie combination. They looked like they went together.

Leaning forward, Peter stole a kiss from Tony before the man could even reciprocate. He pulled the sides of Tony’s coat closed and patted his stomach, affection dripping from him. “I can’t wait to marry you.” He looked Tony straight in the eye, the words somehow more serious that way.

The crinkles at the corner of Tony’s eyes got a little deeper as the happiest smile Peter could remember seeing spread across his face. “Yeah, me either.”

#starker #ironspider #ask prompts #bobbie writes #wedding au #weddings #nonnie #anonymous #the one i've been dreaming of

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romansleftshoulderpad · 5 years

Text

Chapter Five - Origins

The Echo in the Mirror

Words: 2,503

Ship: None

Warnings: Alcohol mention, mentions of underage drinking (no-one gets drunk), Body mutation, panic attack, sex jokes

Tags: @fandermom @patchworkofstars @poisonedapples @hogwarts-my-love @opaque-puppet @omni-hamiltrash @darling-elm @jynxlovesluck @madly-handsome @strickenwithclairvoyance @limitededitionsanderssidesblog @ab-artist @sometimeswritingsometimesdying @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @because-were-fam-ily @gattonero17 @analogical-mess @joaniejustwokeup @whycantihavemorethan32characters

---

If there was one thing the Dormir cousins were famous for, it was parties. So, it was no surprise that Remy’s Halloween party was one of the biggest events of the year. It was also very exclusive, you had to know the right people to get in. Any regular student would have dropped everything for a chance to go. Anyone except for Logan Hamilton, who had barely spoken to Roman or Virgil in days.

It was Wednesday, October 30th and the lunch bell had just rung. “You can’t keep ignoring me forever, Logan,” Virgil said. Logan only walked away, giving him a silent message. “That’s a very rude hand gesture!” he yelled.

Virgil sighed, falling against the wall as Logan walked away. He felt a hand on his shoulder and didn’t even bother to look up. He already knew there was a fifty percent chance of it being Roman (and the other fifty percent chance of it being Remy). “He’ll be back eventually,” Roman said. “We just need to talk to him.”

“I’m trying but he’s impossible to talk to when he’s angry. We’ve really fucked up.”

“Maybe we can get Patton to talk to him.”

Virgil laughed. “You think he’d listen to Patton?”

“What’s wrong with Patton?”

“Nothing,” Virgil said. “To us.”

“To us?”

“You’re pretty oblivious, Princey.”

“Oblivious,” Roman repeated. “Are you saying Logan has a crush on me and therefore won’t talk to Patton?”

Virgil pulled himself from the wall and took Roman’s hand as they walked down the hall. “First of all, you wish Logan had a crush on you. I think you’re just looking for an excuse to change your name to Roman Hamilton.”

“Imagine marrying Logan Hamilton. I could never,” Roman teased.

“Shut up you’re getting off-topic.”

“Weirdly defensive about marrying Logan,” he teased, bumping into Virgil’s side with a laugh. He felt pain in his hand as Virgil’s fists grew tighter. “Ow. Ow. Ow. Okay, okay I take it back.”

“Even if I did have a crush on Logan, he’s straight,” Virgil said. “And you’re getting off-topic. He’s not listening to me, he’s obviously not going to listen to you, and Patton isn’t even in the same room as the table.”

“And, again, what’s wrong with Patton and why am I oblivious?”

“Logan doesn’t exactly, uh, like Patton. And if you haven’t been able to notice that, you certainly have your head in the clouds.”

“I’m king of the clouds.”

“You’re not even a prince, Duke.”

“Touché.”

“I’ll send him a text,” Virgil said. “I just... hope he’ll respond.”

“You guys have been best friends since- what? Seventh grade?” Roman squeezed Virgil’s hand and leaned into him. “He’ll come around.”

Virgil leaned into the touch, both their heads pressed together as they turned a corner towards the school cafeteria. “This is worse than any fight we’ve ever had. I don’t know what to do.”

Roman stopped dead in his tracks. He took Virgil by the shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes. (He still had to grow used to the fact that Virgil was now taller than him. The growth spurt he had hit during his sophomore year was still a surprise.) “Everything is going to be fine,” he said. “You know how I know it will be? Because if Hamilton thinks he can hurt my second best friend then I’m going to kick his ass with my new weird crazy powers.”

“And what powers are those?”

“I’ll figure it out, okay? Now, c’mon, either Logan is going to come back and we can sort out this spirit situation. Or- Or- we forget about Logan for one night and I show you and Patton how to have a good time.”

“But what about-“

“Shhh.” Roman placed a finger over Virgil’s lips. “It’s a Remy Dormir party. We’re going to get drunk off our asses and have a great time. Okay?”

“Okay.”

It was Thursday, October 31, nearly 7:00 O’clock at night. When Roman had arrived Remy was busy locking the last of the bedroom and office doors, any room that would give him a death sentence if it were trashed.

“I brought drinks,” he announced, holding two plastic bags in his hands. Patton and Emile exchanged a glance, staring at Roman with quirked eyebrows. “Relax.” He pulled a bottle out from the bag. “It’s Sprite.”

“Ro, I’m glad you’re here,” Remy said, sliding three stacks of paper plates across the counter. “I need you guys to open these.”

“Great to see you too, Rem.”

“The pleasure is all yours I’m sure. Hey, hand me that pumpkin, will ya? Thanks, babe.”

“I’m pretty sure you call me that more than your own boyfriend.”

“Everyone else is ‘Babe’,” Remy explained, “Emile is ‘baby.’”

Emile blushed, his face redder than his Steven Universe shirt. “Reeeeemmmyyyy.”

“Save that for the bedroom, baby,” Remy teased.

Roman shoved a finger in his mouth and gagged. “You two are disgusting.”

Remy raised an eyebrow and threw a tape dispenser at Roman’s head. “Oh, please, like you haven’t jerked it to m-“

“OKAY! SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he yelled, face bright red. He turned towards Patton and Emile. “Pro tip: Never fucking tell Remy about a crush.”

“I’d consider it a close matter,” he said, failing to hide a laugh. “Aww, c’mon it was years ago.”

“And yet, you’re still an asshole about it.”

“You act like you still have feelings.”

“You act like I won’t shake you off this damn ladder.”

“Ouch. Someone’s got a sore spot.”

“Ladder,” Roman warned. There was a knock on the door but it swung open before anyone could answer it.

“Sup, bitches! I brought beers!” Narcissa yelled. She wore all black with a leather jacket that could rival Remy’s own and a floppy witch hat that still had a price tag on the side. Her long black hair and choppy bangs framed her face nicely. She had a diamond stud in her nose and wore glittery purple eyeshadow.

“Eww.”

“Oh. Duke is here.”

“Ah. Draco can go fuck herself.”

The two stood silent, staring each other down for a total of five seconds before laughing and pulling each other into a hug. “Virgil pulled into the driveway a few seconds after me. He’ll be here in a few-“

“Sup, motherfuckers!”

“He’s here,” she deadpanned.

“Virgil! Virgil, look!” Roman said, smiling like a puppy. “It’s Narcissa.”

“Aww, it’s my chorus baby,” she cooed, ruffling Virgil’s hair. “We miss you.”

“Stop, stop, I spent an hour making this look perfect,” Virgil said. He was dressed head to toe in regal vampire gear with fake blood on his lips and chin.

“Lookin’ sharp, bloodsucker,” Roman complimented.

“Blood isn’t the only thing I suck,” he said with a wink. “Oh! Patton, you made it!”

“I did!” Patton said. “Any luck with, uh, you know who?”

Remy gasped as he jumped off the ladder. “Did someone take my title of You Know Who?!”

“That’s offensive to Lord Voldemort,” Narcissa said.

“Suck my dick, babe.”

“Only if you suck mine.”

“I haven’t had any luck,” Virgil said, taking a seat next to Patton. “I know he needs space, but I don’t know what to do. Our time is running out.”

“Emile,” Patton blurted out. “We could, uh, use Emile if Logan won’t agree.”

Virgil knitted his eyebrows together, glancing up and down at Patton as he wiggled in his seat. “You don’t sound too sure of yourself. Besides, replacing Logan would only make things worse.”

“You said yourself that we’re running out of time.”

“Patton, I-“

A voice escaped Patton’s throat, low and gravely, nothing like the young boy’s own. It said, “We only have tonight, Fear. What are you so afraid of?” Patton slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Your face is turning green.”

“Your arms are turning violet.”

“Princey,” Virgil called, “can we see you real quick?”

“Yeah, what’s- Oh fuck.”

“Oh fuck indeed,” Virgil growled. He grabbed Patton and Roman’s hands and pulled them into the bathroom.

It’s Thursday, October 31, nearly 7:45 at night when Logan finds himself pacing in his bedroom, his eyes going up and down trying to reread a text Virgil had sent hours ago. He couldn’t think of a response.

Logan, we need to talk.

I’m so sorry about what happened at Patton’s house and I’m worried that I'll never get to apologize enough. I know you and Roman don’t always get along, but he really does care about you. The two of us have been fighting trying to figure out what’s best for you but that’s a choice only you can make. We’ll be at Remy’s house tonight and I really hope I can see you there and properly make amends.

We found a way to summon the fourth spirit. His name is Knowledge and I can think of no one more deserving than you of that power. But above all, I want my best friend back. So, please, talk to me.

Logan practically had the message memorized by now. He paced back and forth watching time move forward as his battery drained. Should he stay angry at Virgil and Roman for trying to make this choice without him? Should he forgive them? Should he accept this power? “Feelings,” he mumbled, “the bane of my existence.

Then his phone rang. His texts disappeared as a picture of Roman in a prince costume from behind the scenes of his last play took their place. Why was Roman calling? His finger hovered over the answer button before he finally gave in and clicked it.

“You have three seconds to explai-“

“Logan! Logan, oh thank fairy godmother you answered! We need your help!”

“Is this some sort of trap?”

“No! No, seriously, Virgil and Patton are here with me! We- We don’t know what’s going on! Patton has like- like scales or something! And Virgil looks like he barely escaped the Wonka factory!”

“Roman, your eyes,” he could hear Patton saying. “They’re red.”

“Logan! Just, please, we’re at Remy’s house! Get here as fast as you ca-” The line went dead. The clocks around him slowed, time never fully halting. The room began to dim.

“Roman?” Logan asked, frantically trying to call him back. Every attempt failed. His heart was pounding in his chest. He was having a panic attack but he didn’t even have the time to pull himself out of it. He ran for his bedroom door, trying to pull it open but the handle wouldn’t budge.

“You are not needed there. Not yet,” a voice spoke.

Logan’s eyes welled with tears as he frantically pulled at the door handle. “LET ME OUT!” he screamed. “ROMAN NEEDS ME! LET ME OUT OF HERE!”

“No one can hear you now, Logan Zander Hamilton,” the voice said. “We have temporarily pulled apart from the known universe. There is no one outside that door. It’s only you and me. I suggest we have a little chat.”

Logan pressed his back against the door and fell to the ground, hugging his knees. “My- My friends,” he choked out. “They need me. They need me!”

“We need you, Logan Zander Hamilton,” he said, almost perfectly mimicking Virgil’s voice. Almost, yet too robotic. He wasn’t as caring and compassionate as Virgil always was. He appeared as a reflection in the mirror, a perfect doppelgänger to Logan but with something cold and robotic in his eyes. He looked like a man but he could not pass as human. “My friends and yours are now one.” He pressed his hand against the glass and walked through as easily as someone would walk through a wall of gelatin. And with that, the mirror seemed to bounce back as easily as gelatin without so much as a crack to prove that he had broken through. As he stepped closer, Logan could see how inhuman his eyes were. He was the cosmos hidden inside of a human shell. “Join me- Join us- and learn the secrets of your existence.”

“If- If I do this,” he asked, trying to wipe away the last of his tears, “will I be able to save my friends?”

“With the power of knowledge, you can save humankind.”

“They aren’t human, are they? Not anymore, at least. They’ve been... infected.”

“How observant of you.”

“I don’t need to save humankind,” he said, “I just need to save them.”

“Any panic or pain they are experiencing now is only at the cost of summoning me,” Knowledge said. “Whether aware or not, they have brought me to you. Neither I nor them will be at rest until I have a vessel.”

“For Virgil,” Logan said, “and for Roman. And Patton.” He stuck out his hand towards Knowledge. “I’ll do it.”

Knowledge took Logan’s hand. His human shell melted away and Logan found himself being blinded by the pure light in front of him. He expected to choke and cry in pain as Virgil and Roman had done. Instead, he found warmth traveling from his fingertips through his veins and arteries. He found warmth traveling through him in all directions. His head felt light and his chest felt full of the purest air.

Logan woke up from his bed. He slid on his glasses and looked at his reflection in his phone’s camera. His eyes held pools of stars. He was the cosmos inside of a human shell. He felt enlightened.

Logan put his phone in the pocket of his jeans, grabbed a jacket, and ran out of his house as fast as his legs would take him. When he got to Remy’s house his heart was pounding in the best possible way. He walked in, dodging students as he made his way towards the bathroom.

“LOGAN!” Virgil yelled, smiling brightly as the lights around them flickered with electricity.

“Maybe don’t destroy the lights here,” Logan teased. “You guys summoned a spirit. How the hell did you do that?”

“I, uh, think that was my fault,” Patton said meekly.

“It was Morality who started it,” Virgil corrected. “Not Patton.”

“Is there any difference?” Patton asked.

“Yes,” Logan said. “And no matter what, we must remember that there are differences between us and the spirits using us for personal gain.”

“Woah,” Roman whispered, leaning close to Logan. “Your eyes look wicked right now.”

“You accepted his powers,” Virgil said in disbelief. He smiled brightly, pulling Logan into a hug. “We’re superheroes!”

“We haven’t done anything heroic,” Logan said. “Being superhuman does not automatically make one a hero.”

“Be gay, fight crime,” Roman announced. Virgil shot him a look. “That’s going to be my motto. I’m copyrighting it as we speak.”

“You’re such a nerd,” Logan said with a laugh.

“That’s Logan’s way of saying ‘I love you.’”

“No, it’s just my way of calling you a nerd.”

There was an annoyed knock at the door. “Can you guys have your orgy somewhere else? You’ve been in there for nearly an hour,” Remy yelled.

The three of them laughed, their skin and faces slowly returning to normal. “Well, my friends,” Roman said. “Welcome to the rest of our lives.”

#sanders sides fic

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ptersparkers · 5 years

Text

hello, asgard (the adventures of y/n stark)

summary: a collection of vignettes, which can be read in any order, that detail the life and adventures of y/n stark, a self-proclaimed baker, thrill seeker, and an all around good person.

a/n: the motivation behind it was.....well i just wanted to write something happy because marvel has fUCKED me up!!!! i took a year long hiatus and i’m ready to start writing again

warnings: swearing, probably.

masterlist / taglist

“I’ll take you to Asgard if your father lets me take you.”

Loki sighed, for the millionth time, when you asked him to tell you a story from his time in the foreign kingdom. He thought it be better to take you there himself, but only if Tony allowed it to happen.

“You’re my favorite Odinson,” you said outright because of his proposition, patting his arm before leaving to find your father. Loki let out a chuckle and clasped his hands behind his back before setting out to look for Thor, planning on telling him about the proposal he had just made with you.

You had entered the lab, which was always the first place you looked for your father. There he was, hunched over the glass laboratory table like it was something he wanted to protect.

“I have a proposal,” you said, standing in the empty space in front of him.

Tony looked up and took his goggles off, putting the small blow torch beside him and took his gloves off.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

“Let Loki and Thor take me to Asgard and I won’t bother you about being on a mission for a whole week.”

The look Tony’s face deadpanned.

“Y/N Stark, you are not going to Asgard.”

You crossed your arms and raised your eyebrow. “And why not?”

Tony scoffed and put his hands on his hips before opening his mouth. “Well first of all, I don’t trust those two lunatics to show you a fun time and keep you safe. They’re goddamn royalty, for crying out loud. Second, I can barely keep track of you on the planet you were born in. How am I supposed to keep tabs on you from a different galaxy?”

“I can always keep a tracker on me,” you said, shrugging. “Thor took one the last time he went back so we know it works!”

Tony rubbed his temples and sighed. “Kiddo, I’m not really comfortable with you going to another planet.”

You rolled your eyes and sat down in defeat when Peter Parker walked into the room, presumably using the laboratory as a shortcut to get to the common area, seeing as he had a box of pizza in his hands.

“Peter!” you yelled. He jumped in shock but cleared his throat to keep his composure.

“Y/N, you scared the daylights out of me,” he said while catching his breath.

You practically ran up to him and ushered the poor boy in the direction of your father, putting your arm around Peter’s waist while your hand touched his bicep, making sure he wouldn’t run away.

“Peter, you think Asgard’s a fascinating place that I should totally visit, right?”

Peter looked between you and Tony, trying to decide which side he should take. While Tony was looking at him with his eyebrow raised, you looked up at Peter with a smile that the sun couldn’t compete with. He felt conflicted; Tony scared him to bits because he knew he could take away the Spider-Man suit, but Peter knew that you wouldn’t talk to him until you felt like the punishment was over and it was absolute hell in the tower if you weren’t around. I mean, who else would watch cheesy eighties films with him? (Other than Steve and Bucky who were still trying to catch up with pop culture, but even they needed a breather or two.)

Peter gave an apologetic look to Tony. “Sorry, Mr. Stark. Your daughter scares me more than you do.”

You smiled in triumph and opened the pizza box to steal a slice from Peter.

“I’m gonna have to give you that too, huh?”

“I don’t make the rules, Parker,” you said with a smug smile. Peter laughed and exited the laboratory, leaving you and Tony alone.

“I’ll have two of the strongest Asgardians with me!” you exclaimed. “I’ll be safe and I’ll bring the suit.”

“It’s still a no!” Tony yelled as you walked out of the lab, letting him continue his work before you had interrupted.

***

Steve was chatting with T’Challa and Okoye about current pop culture in America, and he was surprised that they knew so much about a country they hadn’t spent that much time in.

You popped your head in for a quick second, to gain support for your “Get-Y/N-To-Asgard” campaign. So far, three against one.

Upon seeing Steve sitting in an empty meeting room, you entered and enveloped him in a big hug, letting your head rest on his chin.

“You know you’re my favorite, right?”

Steve laughed and his upper body shook, returning the hug as you waved to the two Wakandans on the screen.

“Hey, guys! Long time no talk. Did Shuri tell you about the time she prank called Bucky?”

Okoye couldn’t stop laughing and T’Challa tried his best to keep it in when she let out a loud snort.

“We didn’t hear the end of it! Prank wars are the bane of my existence, except when the prank is on someone else,” T’Challa replied, referring to the video Shuri took of him getting throws off guard by his suit that sat on a mannequin.

“What do you want?” Steve asked with his left eyebrow raised high.

“What, can I not greet my favorite Avenger?”

“Something smells fishy,” Steve said. “I don’t know if I like where this is going.”

“Well,” you said, stretching out the ‘L’ syllable, “Loki and Thor want to take me to Asgard and I’m trying to convince my dad it’s a good idea. I have the suit he built and the tracker. Plus, I’ll be escorted by two royal Asgardians!”

“Y/N, you’re too young to be going into outer space,” Steve said as you pulled away to sit next to him.

“I have to agree,” Okoye said.

“I thought you were on my side!” you said dramatically. “All those days of me ranting about Asgard...”

“For what it’s worth, you have my support,” T’Challa said.

You first pumped the air and the three adults laughed at your antics before you stood up and left the room, giving Steve one more hug and waving goodbye.

***

“What about Captain Marvel?” Peter asked you with an eyebrow raised.

“Oh, Carol? I could probably ask her to come with me. I mean, I don’t really know her schedule but I’m pretty sure my dad would say yes to me going anywhere if Carol was there,” you said with a shrug.

You watched as Peter tinkered with the screwdriver as you lay on your back against the cushioned floor in an empty room that has yet to have a good use.

“Could you call her?” Peter asked before testinf his webshooters.

He heard a prominent ‘thwip’ sound, but the projection wasn’t nearly as far as Peter has thought. He frowned and you chuckled, pulling out your phone to see Carol’s location.

“That’s a negative. She’s doing recon on some other planets and I can’t call her until she’s back in our galaxy,” you said with a sigh. “I think she’s coming back in two days?”

“Shoot her a text,” Peter suggested.

You shrugged and opened the iMessage app.

To: Captain Danvers

hey carol! no rush or anything but when you get the chance, can you come back to stark tower?? there’s some stuff i want to talk to you about :D love ya and stay safe out in the galaxy.

“Okay, I just hope she’s able to receive it before my dad actually stops considering letting me go.”

“I think he stopped considering that last week when Thor brought up Asgard at breakfast, Y/N,” he said, not once looking up from his wrist.

You rolled your eyes and aimlessly scrolled through social media apps.

“Did you know that Thor still called me ‘Little Stark’? I mean, I’m not that little.”

“Considering you’re way shorter than Thor is, you’re pretty little.”

“Sometimes he still calls me ‘Baby Stark,’ as if I’m still that eleven year old kid he met.”

Peter laughed at the fond memories of watching you succumb to embarrassment with the nickname and shot a web in your direction, to which you stuck you tongue out.

“You are a pain in my ass, Peter Parker.”

“That may be, but you know you love it.”

You scoffed playfully and took one of Peter’s spare webshooters that lay in front of him and shot him in the knee.

“Hey!” he said, grimacing at the material on his jeans. “This isn’t gonna come off for another two hours!”

“Now you know how I feel,” you muttered, suddenly seeing a text from Carol.

From: Captain Danvers

Hey, kiddo. Finished a job earlier than expected and I’ll be back in NY in about six hours. Let’s talk then?

To: Captain Danvers

sounds GREAT! i hope things went well?

From: Captain Danvers

You bet! Everyone’s safe and sound, and the threat’s eliminated. I could go for a fresh pot of coffee when I come back. See you soon!

To: Captain Danvers

see ya soon!!

***

In the end, Tony ended up letting you visit Asgard when Loki, Thor, and Carol found a time in their very busy schedules to take you to Asgard.

Were you going to have to wait for a millennium until everyone had a free day? You were.

Were you going to wait anyway?

Absolutely.

***

Taglist:

@songforhema, @kath94210, @sessi03.

#avengers #my writing

770 notes · View notes

let-it-raines · 5 years

Text

it’s all an act (until it isn’t) {1/1}

High school drama teacher Killian Jones doesn’t have time for drama off the stage. He’s had enough of it in his life, and no part of him is searching for more. But then the day before his theater class’s modern day interpretation of a fairytale begins its four-week run, his two leads get sick. There are no understudies, no one to fill the roles, but as they say, the show must go on.

With him in it, apparently.

Having Emma Swan, the music teacher and woman who has avoided him since her first day of work at Storybrooke High, fill in as the starring role opposite him is the complete opposite of what he expected.

Rating: Teen

A/N: Shoutout to @shireness-says and @wellhellotragic for giving me the prompts that make up the inspiration behind this story. You two are always bright spots of sunshine and deserve all of the cupcakes 🧁 in the world. I mean that very, very seriously. ❤️

And thank you to @captainsjedi for organizing @csseptembersunshine and making me get my butt in gear to finally write this story when I’d been struggling with my one-shots.

Found on AO3: | Here |

Tag list: @kmomof4 @heavenlyjoycastle @tiganasummertree @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @idristardis @snowbellewells @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @emmas-storybook @searchingwardrobes @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @spartanguard

-/-

“Where the bloody hell are Ethan and Kate?”

Killian’s voice bellows over the stage, his words echoing off of the walls and seemingly disappearing into the void, which is what happens whenever he talks on some days. He’s got maybe five students who actively listen to him every single day, and every single one of those five are on a field trip to some kind of classical music concert that he did not give approval for. Granted, he’s only the drama teacher, but when they have the opening night of the play they’ve been practicing for coming up tomorrow, he kind of expects his students to be around.

Or to at least be asked if the field trip interferes with anything.

But was he asked? No, no of course he wasn’t. He’s never asked anything because on the school’s totem pole of important faculty, he is at the bottom with all of the other fine arts teachers, which is a damn shame. Reading and writing and arithmetic are important. No one knows this more than him, someone who has spent nearly all of his life in school even when he was in the Navy, but kids can’t be contained at a desk all day. They have to move or create art, whether that be painting, acting, or playing the damn piccolo. They have to be able to broaden their horizons and have an outlet for everything that they’re going through, so he thinks the drama department is pretty damn important.

As well as the art and music departments, even the physical education departments – and that’s not simply because he is also the track and field coach.

And yet, here he is unable to find his two leads for tomorrow, as well as most of his best students, and it’s all because Emma Swan didn’t bother to tell him that she was taking so many of his kids away to go to an all-day music festival outside of town the day before opening night.

Killian would bet that she did it on purpose.

Actually, he knows that she did.

Emma Swan is the bane of his existence. Never will he forget the day that she started at Storybrooke High three years ago. They’d pulled up into the teacher’s parking lot at the same time, and he’d seen her struggling to grab all of her bags and boxes of things, so he’d quickly slung his bag over his shoulder and walked toward her, offering her both a smile and a hand. She’d accepted, a nervous smile on her face, her green eyes very obviously wary of him, and they’d walked in the front doors of the school together.

She was (is) gorgeous. There was no denying that, not that he ever has. She was all toned legs and arms in her red dress that contrasted well against the light, but not too pale, tone of her skin. Her smile was brightened by the red lipstick she was wearing, her full lips accentuated by it, and the blonde of her hair fell down her back in waves that he wanted to run his fingers through.

Obviously, he didn’t. There’s such a thing as human decency and sexual harassment, and he is nothing if not a gentleman (most of the time), but he did notice that she was simply a stunning woman.

The stunning Emma Swan.

There’d been small talk, of course, and he’d asked her about her new position here, what school she was coming from, follow up questions to all of that, and then offered his help for anything and everything that she might need while starting her new job. She’d smiled and said thank you, but then she’d easily navigated to her office, the one just outside of the music classroom and across the hall from his office and the auditorium where he spends his days, and shut the door in his face.

After that, he never quite cracked her code.

During lunch, she seems to have no issue talking to other teachers. She gladly chats with Belle, their librarian, Mary Margaret, the science teacher for grades nine and ten, and occasionally she can be seen talking with other teachers as well. Really, she’s so goddamn friendly with everyone that it makes absolutely zero sense for her to dislike him and not want to be friendly with him. Sure, he’s been disliked by many a woman before – bad dates and relationships and then once for taking the last carton of milk at the grocery store – but he’s always known why. He’s never been left in this state of confusion as to why he’s disliked.

Which is a shame because he quite fancies her from time to time when she’s not yelling at him for taking her students away from practice to work with him on stage or when she’s stealing his students for a last-minute fieldtrip to who knows where on the day of dress rehearsals.

Emma’s got this thing that she does during faculty meetings where whenever she disagrees with what’s being said, she scrunches up her nose and makes it wrinkle. He imagines that she wrinkles her nose when she thinks of him, most likely holding one of her many swan-themed coffee mugs that’s got a fifty-fifty shot of being filled with coffee with vanilla creamer or hot chocolate topped with loads of cinnamon. He can’t even begin to imagine how much she has to work out for how she eats. That, or she has the world’s greatest metabolism.

Damn her for making him notice these things and damn her for stealing his students.

“Seriously, guys,” Killian grumbles again, shifting the canopy bed prop that they rolled onto stage earlier this afternoon. His hands are full of callouses and most likely stained in paint for how much work he’s had to put into making the set. Liam and Elsa have come to the school or his apartment after they get off of work to help out with making sets, and he wonders just how he can repay them for going above and beyond when they already work far more often than him…and he feels like he never stops working. “Why aren’t you listening to me? Where are Kate and Ethan?”

Of the thirty teenagers that he still has with him today, two look up, and neither of them say anything, simply looking at him with pleading eyes, begging him not to make them talk. He loves all of these kids, and even though sometimes it’s hard to garner the attention of all of them, it’s usually much better than this.

He’s a damn good teacher. He can command a room, his five far-too-loyal students aside.

“Bloody hell,” he shouts, clapping his hands together so that the remaining twenty-eight heads look up at him with varying degrees of disgust. “I know that you guys don’t have a lot to do right now when we’re missing our leads, but that doesn’t mean you can just ignore me. Now will someone tell me where Kate and Ethan are? I know they’re not in music, so I know that they’re not on the field trip.”

His eyes scan over the group, looking for someone who’s going to crack, and he finally finds it in Ava.

“They’re sick, Mr. Jones,” she says quietly as her fingers twist around her braid. “That’s what Kate said when she texted me this morning.”

“Are they actually sick or are they skipping classes today while their parents think that they’re at school? And are they going to be better tomorrow?”

He’s met with silence once more until a deep laugh breaks out from Felix, a kid who is great at building sets but not so great at being a part of the team. Honestly, Killian has no idea why he’s even in this class when he could have chosen from several other electives. Deep down, he thinks it might be to torture Killian. Honestly. He’s only ninety percent sure that isn’t the reason he’s in the class.

Maybe eighty percent. It depends on the day.

“They have fucking mono, man,” Felix laughs, propping his feet up on the theater chair in front of him. “They’re not coming to class.”

“Language,” Killian says instinctively while his mind runs over the information he’s just been given. He’s a little loose with his curse words, but Americans seem to be a little more reserved with curses than he and all of his fellow Brits are so this is something he’s had to deal with while teaching in America. “What do you mean they have mono? How do you know this, but I don’t?”

“Group chat,” Felix answers noncommittally. “Ethan went to the doctor a couple days go, then Kate went, and they both got mono because they’re not just making out on stage, you know?”

Yes, he does know about the fact that the two leads in his play are dating. He didn’t when he cast them, but that also wouldn’t have mattered. He knows far too much about each of his students and their personal lives because for some reason, every bit of gossip happens while in this auditorium. The things that he’s heard while trying to paint a tree for set or while attempting to give an actual lesson where his students are supposed to take notes on the history of theater.

No part of him misses when he was a teenager. Every little thing feels like the most important thing, and he cannot imagine having to feel that way again.

“They have mono,” he repeats, testing out the words on his tongue all the while he tries to convince himself that this isn’t real. “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope. You haven’t gotten a note from their parents about it?”

Killian shakes his head before pulling his phone out of his back pocket, ignoring texts from his brother and his mates so that he can login to his school email. There are several messages that he sees that he needs to get to later all involving logistics for the show tomorrow night, and then he sees the emails Felix mentioned.

Bloody buggering fuck.

His leads are sick.

And they didn’t do any understudies because no one else was comfortable enough to sing on stage, and he figured that it’s just a high school play that the kids wanted to put on as a part of the class. It wasn’t a big deal.

Except for the fact that their principal told him that the ticket sales can all go toward fundraising for the drama department, and now he doesn’t have anyone to actually lead the play.

His students wanted to put on a modern-day fairytale, and all of these disasters happening at once make him think that he might very well be living in one.

If a modern-day fairytale is actually a nightmare.

-/-

Killian has been staring at his computer screen in his office for at least two hours when he hears the click of boots against the linoleum floor in the hallway outside of his office. It’s past six, everyone long gone, and he knows that it can only be one person walking out in the hallway.

Emma.

There’s a flash of long legs and blonde hair falling over a red leather jacket, and he’d recognize those three elements of her person anywhere. But as she’s walking into her office, across the hall from him, he definitely knows that it’s her. The fact that she leaves her door open and he can see her sitting at her desk certainly doesn’t help him forget.

How is she so beautiful and infuriating all at once?

“It’s rude to stare, Jones,” Emma shouts from her office like she does whenever they have these kinds of conversations.

He blinks up at her, unaware of how long exactly he has been staring at her. His head is pounding a ridiculous amount, and he wonders why the hell he ever left England and the Royal Navy just to come to America to teach high school drama and yell at kids to keep running around an asphalt track.

(Heartbreak, following his brother, et cetera.)

“It’s rude to take away my students the day before we have a show opening.”

“Their parents signed permission slips. I wasn’t aware I needed approval from you too.”

“Yeah, well, it’s common courtesy to at least let me know. Why isn’t there a school policy about that?”

He can’t quite see, but he knows that she’s rolling those green eyes of hers. She rises from her desk, and while he thinks she’s only getting up to close her office door, she doesn’t. Instead, she walks into the hallway and over to his office, leaning her shoulder up against his doorframe as she crosses her arms over her chest. When did she take her jacket off to leave her in a simple white sweater?

“You okay?” Emma asks, what sounds like genuine concern in her voice.

“Do you actually care?”

She scoffs, and he looks up at her again so that he can see the slightest twitching in her jaw along with a wrinkling of her nose.

“Believe it or not, I’m not a complete and total bitch. You look like you’re freaking out, and I’m genuinely concerned about that.”

“Ah well,” he sighs, reaching up to scratch behind his ear as he plasters a fake smile on his face, “you don’t have to worry about me, love. I’m perfectly fine.”

“You’re a liar is what you are.”

“How would you know?”

“For one, you have the worst poker face in the world, but I also have a little bit of a superpower in being able to tell when someone is lying.”

“Really now?”

“Yep. You don’t teach teenagers for six years without knowing how to tell someone is lying.” She steps further into the room and takes a seat in the cushioned chair that sits in the small space across from his desk. This might be the most pleasant conversation they’ve had in years, and he’s still not entirely sure that it isn’t some kind of fever dream. “So, tell me, Jones, what has you looking like you’d rather have a mug full of rum than coffee this late in the afternoon?”

Sighing, he leans forward on his desk and taps his fingers over the script, large letters typed out to read “Sleeping Beauty.” He’s got the entire script memorized now, mostly because he was the one to write the majority of it – with the help of the actual fairytale, the movie, and then his students when they insisted they do a modern version of a fairytale with a twist – but also because he’s been running lines with these kids for weeks.

And now he has no stars.

“I’m a bloody idiot,” he starts, swallowing his pride and the stress that’s lodged in his throat, “because I didn’t cast understudies for this play. Only two students in the class were comfortable both singing and sharing a kiss on stage, and I figured that it would be fine. It’s not a huge production, but then I was told that ticket sales could go to the theater department so that I can actually have funding. But the joke is on me because my leads have mono and are pretty much out for the entire month that we were going to be doing the show.”

Silence surrounds him as he finishes his rant, wondering why the hell he’s ranting to Emma in the first place, and he swears that he can hear the beating of his heart. Or maybe it’s the ticking of the clock above his door.

“You don’t have any other kids who know the lines?”

“Ava Hanson,” he sighs, looking up at Emma while he runs his hands through his hair, “but she’s not going to feel comfortable on stage. At this point, I’m wondering if we should simply postpone or if maybe I should play the lead role and modify things to make it more appropriate. Honestly, though, I’m not sure if I feel comfortable doing that.”

Emma groans, something deep and annoyed, and he’s just about to snap at her as he wonders what the hell could she possibly be upset about when she gets up from the chair and starts pacing back and forth in the room, her face buried in her hands.

“I’m willing to help you,” Emma huffs, stopping her pacing to look at him with her hands on her hips.

“What, love?”

“Look, I know what it’s like to be a part of the arts department, obviously, and funding is so hard to come by that I wouldn’t want you to miss out on any for those kids. Plus, I’m sure a bunch of the kids were looking forward to it. So, for those two reasons and those two reasons alone, I will read over the script and see if I can act in your play if you’re going to fill in for the other lead role.”

“You’re serious?” Killian questions. There’s no way. Absolutely none. “You realize this is a three-times a week thing for four weeks, it involves singing, extra time for no pay, and you have to spend time with me?”

“I obviously haven’t won the lottery or anything here, but yeah, I got all of that.”

“And you know what play we’re doing, right?”

“Sleeping Beauty.”

“Which involves a kiss.”

Emma’s lips fall into the shape of an “O” and he chuckles at that, thoroughly enjoyed by the blush on Emma’s cheeks and the continual blinking of her eyes.

“Just,” she whines, reaching down onto the desk to pick up the script he was looking at, “brush your teeth beforehand, and don’t think I’m taking my eyes off of you for a second.”

“I would despair if you did.”

-/-

There’s a substitute filling in for all of the theater and music classes the next day as he and Emma run through lines and do the messiest rehearsal in the history of rehearsals. Surprisingly, she knew most of her lines when she walked into the auditorium this morning, and while that did make everything go more smoothly, it was still a mess finding their timing as well as the timing of all of their students. But by the time the lunch bell rings, they’ve got a pretty good handle on it, and he sends Emma off to the closet where they keep the costumes to see if she can fit into Kate’s costumes. He’s sure that she can, especially with how slight Emma is, but then Emma walks up on stage with her breasts practically spilling out of the dress.

“What am I supposed to do about this?”

“To what are you referring?” Emma rolls her eyes and motions her hands around until she’s pointing at her chest, impatiently waiting for him to acknowledge the slight problem. “Well, love, your discomfort is a cross I’m willing to bear.”

Emma laughs, her eyes rolling once more, but he can see the slight smile on her face.

They might just get on, the two of them.

Or kill each other.

Everything for the rest of the day is a blur of him practicing while also dealing with all of the disasters and melodramatic emergencies that his students go through, and he swears the he blinks and people are already filling the auditorium. Liam and Elsa were kind enough to collect tickets for him, as well as buying far more tickets than necessary and forcing all of Elsa’s family to come to the show like he’s a teenager performing tonight and not an adult who screwed up, and he absolutely knows that he’s going to be teased about this until someone else does something equally embarrassing.

Not that being in theater is embarrassing. But being over thirty years old and acting with several sixteen-year-olds is.

Plus, they all know about his slight infatuation with Emma Swan and her definite dislike of him, and Killian just knows that Liam is going to be sitting in the front row recording this to have on file forever. It’ll likely be his Christmas card. Forget a picture of he and Elsa and Elsa’s ever-growing baby bump. It’s going to be Killian walking around on stage.

Closing the curtains he’s peeking out of, Killian turns around to see Emma standing in front of him wearing jeans and a blouse, her feet covered in white sneakers.

“What the bloody hell are you wearing?”

“It’s a modern-day fairytale,” she points out with a smirk, motioning her hands over her. “This is what a modern-day woman wears. Plus, I bent over in that dress and a boob popped out. I’m not flashing some of these dads who already think they can hit on me.”

“Yeah,” Killian gulps, forcing a smile as his stomach twists, “good point. You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

It goes surprisingly well even though everything that can go wrong does go wrong. Felix curses in the middle of the one scene that he’s in, Ava’s microphone goes out which makes her cheeks flame in embarrassment, a tree falls down on top of him during the forest scene, and the bed squeaks when he kneels down on top of it to kiss Emma awake.

And that is something else entirely.

He and Emma had argued for an hour over the scene where Phillip wakes Aurora up with a kiss. She’d agreed that it was written well and followed the original storyline, but she’d protested in how they should actually go about it. How the hell does one kiss their colleague and then everything go back to normal?

How did he ever expect his students to do that as well?

This is nothing like it ever was when he was occasionally in community theater in different parts of his life.

But then the play ends to a hefty smattering of applause, and Killian can finally take a deep breath.

And it starts all over again.

Four weeks. He can do four weeks.

-/-

“This is exhausting,” Emma sighs as she stretches out across the panels on the stage, her body star-fished on the wood.

The two of them have been at the school since seven this morning cleaning up the auditorium so the janitor didn’t have to come in on an extra day. It’s the right thing to do when it’s their fault that there’s extra mess in the school, but he’s really and truly regretting it right now that his head pounds at the lack of caffeine in his system. Emma was smart enough to walk in the school with one of her swan mugs full of coffee, but his mind was not thinking that far ahead this morning.

Damn Kate and Ethan for getting mono.

Can he damn his students?

He probably should not be doing that.

But he kind of wants to because while the past three weeks have been stressful and busy and his personal life has absolutely gone down the drain, it hasn’t been…awful. All of his students are having a grand time, having fun with each other and becoming more comfortable in their roles, and to him, that’s the most important thing. He wants them to know that this can be a fun experience and that they don’t have to worry about being judged. So, that’s been great.

Kissing Emma Swan approximately (exactly) eighteen times has been not so great.

Okay, well, it’s actually been wonderful in a weird sense. Stage kissing and actual kissing are two entirely different things, but once the stiffness of those first few days was gone, it felt more natural.

And his odd, inexplicable crush on Emma only deepened, which is the last thing that he wanted.

(He’s turning into a teenager.)

It only gets worse in the fact that she walked inside the building today in a pair of short black running shorts and a matching black tank top with her hair pulled off of her neck in a ponytail. He doesn’t know when she finds the time to work out, but if the definition in her arms and legs shows anything, it’s that she very much does find the time.

(So working out and a good metabolism is how she eats like she does.)

Plus, well, she’s not all bad.

They bicker more than anyone he’s ever met. If he says black, she says white. If he wants to get Chinese delivery for a late dinner, she wants pizza. If he wants to change the tempo on a song to be faster, Emma wants it to be slower. Every single thing is a battle, and he loves it.

In fact, he hasn’t had this much fun in years. Their bickering is different than their bickering of the past. It’s no longer hostile and falls more into the category of teasing or, if he’s a tad bit presumptuous, flirting. A little thrill of excitement runs through him when Emma picks a fight or teases him about the flip of his hair in the same way that he sees her lips curl up into a smile when he teases her right back for the way that her voice croaked during their third performance.

Fun.

Spending time with her is fun.

And he’s terrified to know what’s going to happen when the show ends its run in a week and they go back to hating each other from across the hallway.

“Aye,” he confirms, using the muscles in his arms to pull himself up to sit on the edge of the stage, his fingers reaching over to mess with the loose bit of Emma’s sock, pulling a bit more when she doesn’t flinch away. “Tis exhausting. I plan on sleeping for a solid week when it’s all over.”

“We have school.”

“I’m thinking of playing hooky. You want to join?”

“Depends,” she mumbles, sitting up and bringing her knees to her chest, “what are we going to do?”

Killian hums in thought, tapping his finger against his chin. “Well, for one, sleeping for at least a day. Then drinking a glass or two of rum without having to worry about waking up early the next morning, which is kind of the same thing. But mostly, in this fantasy world, I’m going to spend days away from teenagers of any and all kinds.”

“Amen to that, Jones. Add in some greasy hangover food after that night of rum drinking, and I am there.”

“Grilled cheese and onion rings?”

“It’s scary how you know that.”

“We share a cafeteria five days a week, love,” he sighs, turning a bit more on the stage so that he can look at her while he talks. “A man picks up on some things. I’m sure you notice these things about me too.”

Her brows furrow, suspicion painted in her features, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. “This sounds like some kind of trap to stroke your ego, and I am not falling for it.”

“My princess,” he says sarcastically, knowing that she hates it, “whatever shall I do with you? I’d go to the ends of the world or time to make you happy.”

“All you have to do is go to the faculty lounge and make me some more coffee.”

Killian hops down from the stage and bends over in a sarcastic bow that has Emma laughing. “As you wish, milady.”

The show that night goes smoothly, probably their smoothest one yet. Everyone is settled in their roles now, so there’s not much to do but work on vocals and do little tweaks that he’ll need to work on if they also do a spring production. With classes and track and field practice, he’s not entirely sure how he’ll fit one in, especially with every other event that takes up the auditorium near graduation, but it’s simply something to think about.

As well as having understudies. He’s never making this mistake again even if it’s going much better than he ever could have imagined.

Emma is a damn good stage partner, which shouldn’t be surprising given what he knows about her musical ability, but being a musician doesn’t always translate over into being a good actor. At the beginning, he was definitely simply hoping for someone to fill the spot in the most adequate of ways. He was never expecting her to be good.

He also wasn’t expecting them to still have crowds this many shows in. Honestly, when the school set-up this timeline, he expected it to only last two weeks and for them to cancel the rest of the shows, but he managed to get a few retirement homes, elementary schools, and recreational groups to come on different nights so that there’s always someone sitting in the crowd.

If Will, Robin, and Liam are asses who keep coming back simply so that they have more proof of him acting with Emma, that’s beside the point.

If he went to dinner with Elsa three days ago and told her that he’s developed actual feelings for Emma over the past few days, that’s definitely beside the point.

And yet it is also every point on all of his lists written over and over again in permanent marker.

Every logical bone in his body told him not to let his little crush fester and develop into something more, but spending all of this time with her, watching her laugh at his jokes or hum along to their music while cleaning up after the shows has completely endeared her to him. It’s the oldest story in the world – a man falls for a woman – and yet he thinks this has the beginnings to be his favorite tale.

Tonight, though, is their final show, and since Kate and Ethan received the all clear from their doctors two days ago, he and Emma are very gladly stepping down from their roles to let their students close it out. A little bit of fate or good coincidence is playing out here, and when his ever-loyal small group of students tell him to go sit in the audience for once and watch, he listens.

If not with a bit of trepidation as it’s not like him not to be behind the curtains making sure everything goes just right.

“You want some popcorn?” Emma asks him when she plops down in the seat next to him, a red and white striped box in her hands, the smell of salt and butter invading his nostrils. “It’s really good. I’m sure it goes against your healthy eating lifestyle, but you should live a little.”

Killian reaches over to grab a handful, the butter greasy on his fingertips, before popping two pieces in his mouth. “So, you have noticed the way that I eat.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” She knocks her shoulder into his, and he knocks right back. “It’s going to be weird watching it from down here. I feel like I should be singing to you or gurgling mouthwash or something.”

“I knew you used mouthwash right before we kissed.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure that I could trust you despite me telling you to brush your teeth.”

“Minty and fresh,” he breathes, twisting his head so that he can get that little bit closer to Emma. “And maybe a little buttery now.”

“It’s a good thing you won’t be kissing me tonight then.”

His stomach twists at that, his heart dropping a little bit, and he knows that is shouldn’t. He’s an adult. He knows what happens up on that stage is all an act, literally, and his mind shouldn’t get confused by it. And while his mind likely isn’t confused by the lines that they say on stage, it’s confused by what happens off of it. It’s the lunches together and the way Emma comes into his office when they’re both staying late on non-play nights grading papers. Neither of them close their doors now, those wooden frames always staying open, and while she does still shout at him from across the hallway, very rarely is it cross words. Oftentimes it is simply Emma telling Killian to check his phone because she has sent him yet another meme about being a theater teacher.

Truly, it’s the smiles and small jokes and the way that her steps match up with his in the hallways, the echoes of their shoes blending together so that no one would know who exactly it is that’s walking down the corridors of the school.

It’s the subliminal changes, the ones that only he would notice, and while they are small, much like Emma, they are mighty.

“Yeah,” Killian mumbles a little dejected as he takes another bite of popcorn, “it is a good thing.”

Emma looks at him with parted lips like she’s about to speak, but before she can say anything, the squeak of the curtains opening sounds the beginning of the show.

Because Killian’s been acting in it and consumed with playing many roles both on and off stage, he hasn’t truly been able to appreciate the production. He hasn’t been able to appreciate the sets or the way that the kids easily change them between scenes. Now he’s able to notice that and precisely how much everyone has improved, how confident his students are under the lights and in front of the crowds. He’s always been a fan of pushing comfort zones, of helping his more shy students break out of them, but he also knows that it can’t be forced. Some people simply are not comfortable with that no matter how much time he gives, and that’s okay. They find their roles in other ways.

“Kate’s voice is beautiful,” Emma whispers in his ear, but he has a difficult time focusing on it for how her hand is curled around his forearm. She’s got soft hands, especially considering the callouses he knows should form from playing instruments all day. “Does she play any instruments? Why is she not in one of my music classes?”

“Don’t pilfer my students, Swan.”

Her fingers pinch around his skin, pulling at the hair, and Killian scrunches up his nose while he looks at her, their noses only two or three inches apart. “I wasn’t trying to, thank you very much. I was thinking maybe we could see if some of my students wanted to do a combination with yours. We could do live music with a play. Maybe not one that runs for four weeks, but at least a show.”

“Look at you coming around to me.”

“Yeah, well, like you said, we make quite the team.”

When the play is over, his students doing a bang-up job and giving a better performance than they ever would with he and Emma on stage, the audience rises for a standing ovation that has the grin on his face stretching from ear-to-ear. It looks the same to Emma. Kate and Ethan and the rest of their students insist that he and Emma stand on stage with them all, each of them very obviously going for dramatic effect, so he takes Emma’s hand and walks around the front aisle of the auditorium until they can walk up the side steps and have their thirty seconds of gratification and self-indulgence in doing a good job.

Killian doesn’t let go of Emma’s hand.

More importantly, Emma doesn’t let go of his.

She does eventually when they start cleaning up for the night, parents and students helping out as they all eat the pizza that Liam decided to donate for the night. Attached to the top box was a note telling Killian to stop being a coward and to ask Emma out, and thankfully, he snatched that piece of paper away quickly before stuffing it in his pocket. His older brother never does seem to stop finding ways to embarrass him while also being a good person.

Amazing how that works out.

Eventually the sets are put away yet not dismantled and every pizza but one has been devoured, so Killian grabs it and his car keys before walking out of the auditorium and down the hallway to the exit only to find Emma waiting for him. Or, at least, that’s what he thinks.

“So,” she starts, looking up from her phone to smile at him, the black dress she has on far too distracting, “you want to go get that glass of rum?”

“Swan, are you asking me out on a date?”

“I’m asking you to a bar.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking?”

Emma chuckles, shaking her head from side to side as she steps forward so that they’re eye-to-eye, her heels aiding that. “I knew you’d be old-fashioned, so I’ll tell you what, you can pay. And drive.”

“Why, love, you do flatter a man.”

-/-

“Wait, wait, wait,” Emma mumbles, her hand placed on his thigh, innocently and yet distracting all at once, “you were in the Navy in England? How the hell did you get here?”

They’ve been at the Rabbit Hole bar for two hours now, only one drink each somehow, and he swears that they haven’t stopped talking this entire time. Obviously, he’s gotten to know Emma better over the last month of him spending so much time with her, but it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t her sharing stories of the time she spends with her friends or talking about how she knew Mary Margaret through Mary Margaret’s husband. It wasn’t her telling him that she got into music because the foster mom she had as a teenager was a music teacher and taught Emma to play several instruments. It wasn’t him getting to know her on a level more intimate than the pleasantries that all teachers share at school.

It wasn’t this.

And it definitely wasn’t Emma asking him about his life with more interest than she usually shows.

Or the casual touching that precedes flirting. It may have been awhile for him, but he does know flirting when he sees it. Emma Swan flirting with him makes his stomach twist and his heart pound.

“Eh,” he sighs, reaching up to scratch behind his ear out of nerves, “so I joined the Royal Navy at eighteen. It gave me money and purposed and an education. I’d always been interested in the theater as a kid, so I figured I’d study that and possibly become a teacher after I retired. I simply didn’t expect to retire so soon.”

“Well, why did you?”

The age-old question.

“A broken heart. I’d been dating someone, Milah, for a few years, and I bought a ring to propose to her. I did propose, actually, but she turned me down.” He chuckles the words bitterly with a forced smile on his face. “She’d slept with someone else and had hidden it from me, but I guess the ring made her unable to hide it anymore. So, yeah, that wasn’t great, and when my contract ended later that year, I looked into moving here to be with my brother and his wife, who is American. It was a hell of a lot of paperwork and interviews, but I like being here. It’s relaxing.”

The smile on Emma’s face is soft, apologetic, and he can tell that she wants to say that she’s sorry, to show him pity like everyone always does when he shares that story. It’s something he’s grown used to, but he doesn’t want Emma’s pity.

“I was engaged,” she blurts out instead, pulling her hand back from his thigh to grab her wine from the bar top and take a small sip. “Obviously, I’m not anymore, but I was, right before I started to work at Storybrooke. That’s why I transferred. That’s also why I may have been a bit of a bitch to you.”

“You?” he mock gasps. “You being a little rude to me? Never.”

“Shut up. I’m trying to apologize.”

“You’re not very good at it.”

“I will punch you.”

“So aggressive.”

“You like it,” she teases, flipping her hair over her shoulder so that his eyes are drawn to the dip of her clavicle before he looks back at her eyes.

“Perhaps I do,” he admits quietly, the sounds around him quieting for a moment as he begins to lean in, begins to get closer to Emma, but he stops himself halfway and pulls back. He’s not ruining this moment by making a brash decision. He won’t.

“Uh, um, anyways,” Emma stutters while blinking, her fingers tapping against the glass. She uncrosses her legs, and he nearly falls backward when her calf brushes against his. Smooth, Jones, smooth. “So, I was engaged to a guy that I worked with, had the ring on my finger and a wedding date booked, and one day I went to his classroom at lunch to ask him if he wanted to eat the rest of my pasta only to see him making out with the vice principal. Which obviously sucked a lot for me, personally, but also it was super inappropriate. Neal always insisted that we don’t show affection at work. No one even knew it was him I was engaged to, and I guess I didn’t realize why he was that way until I found out he was dating two women at one school, which really took him to a whole new level of shitty.”

“He sounds like a real bastard.”

“Yeah,” Emma laughs, a bitter smile on her face, “yeah he was, but it’s for the best, you know? I’m not glad that it happened, but I’m glad that I found out when I did. I can’t imagine having actually been married to him. So, when I met you and you were all charming and helpful as well as a fellow teacher, I was done with helpful and charming men and kind of took it out on you.”

“You find me charming then?”

“That’s what you got out of that?”

“I do so love a compliment.”

“Stop,” she chuckles, gently slapping his arm. “Don’t be weird about it.”

“Charming and weird are the two words I’d use to describe me, though. But, yeah, Swan, I’m glad you didn’t marry him. I’m glad I didn’t marry Milah. Things tend to work out for the best.” The small, shitty band that’s playing in the corner of the bar shifts tunes to a slower song, one he doesn’t recognize, and an idea pops into Killian’s mind. “So now that feelings have been shared,” he croons, standing up from the stool and holding out his hand toward Emma, “will you do me the honor of allowing me to have this dance?”

Emma arches her brow once more, something she might as well do as often as he does, but the quizzical look doesn’t match the grin on her face. “What if I don’t know how to dance?”

“Well, darling, I know for a fact that’s not true since we just danced in a high school play together for a month, but even if it was, luckily for you, you have a partner who knows what he’s doing. So, come on, let’s go.”

She hesitates, but it’s only for a moment before she’s placing her hand in his and rising from her stool, the two of them going to the half-empty dance floor. It’s more swaying than dancing with how close Emma is standing, one of her hands wrapped around his neck while the other is intertwined with his and resting on his chest. His free hand is on her hip, fingers itching to dip lower, but he doesn’t. He won’t.

Not yet.

Not until Emma steps more into his space, the curves of her body aligned with the lines of his, and he can feel the way her heart is beating in her chest. Or, really, that might simply be his.

“Emma,” he hesitantly whispers. Her lips are close enough to his that he can feel his mouth move over hers when he talks, but it’s not enough. He��s kissed her before, and that definitely wasn’t enough. “Are you sure?”

Instead of answering, she tilts her head up toward his and hesitantly brushes her lips over his, staying still until his mouth responds. In reality, her lips feel the same as they did every single time they had a moment like this on stage, but it’s different. It’s different in the way that she moves against him, in the way that she tugs on his bottom lip and on the way that he tugs on her upper one. It’s different in that there is no acting here, only honesty in the soft and gentle movements that have him sighing into her mouth.

It’s different in that this is truly Emma kissing him, and in the three years that he’s known her, he never could have imagined this. And if he did, reality is so much better.

When they pull back for air, he can feel the smile on Emma’s face as their foreheads press together, and he’s sure that she can feel the giant grin painted on his lips.

“You all good, Emma?”

“Yeah,” she laughs, kissing him again, “except it’s very weird for you to taste like rum instead of toothpaste.”

Killian barks out a laugh before moving his hands to cup her cheeks and smile down at her. “I like you, Emma Swan.”

“Funny thing, I like you too.”

Monday morning, Killian pulls into the parking lot with Emma in his passenger’s seat and her hand resting on his knee.

They never picked up her car on Friday night.

When they get engaged a year later, Belle wins the betting pool on when the two of them would get together. Apparently, both the faculty and students started it on Emma’s fourth day of work at Storybrooke High.

Talk about a modern-day fairytale.

#it's all an act (until it isn't)#cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan #csseptembersunshine

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